The Light Spirit
by FakeJake93
Summary: A brilliant spectrum of light is left in the moon's wake. Pamela lives underneath its magnificent glow with her father, content in a world flourishing in newfound peace. Ikana Canyon is finally at rest... until she meets someone at the bottom of the well.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

She ran across the clay bathed in moonlight.

"Papa!" The little girl shrieked, as her tiny legs carried her towards the small house. "Papa, they're coming!"

She could hear them just behind her. Their decayed bodies were wrapped in white linen, but they still leveled their arms, with rotted fingers reaching out to grasp the young child. Her bangs dangled before her eyes, but she thrust the brown locks aside as she sprinted. "Papa, we have to hurry!" Her green skirt was ruffled by the late night wind, as her legs tirelessly carried her.

"Pamela! Hurry inside!" Her father was knelt beside the house, but his fingers were working urgently.

The little girl crossed the last of the blank, canyon landscape, stopping as she reached her father. "I'm not leaving you," she protested, kneeling beside him. She turned around. The undead corpses wrapped in cloth were halfway across their clay, rock-based front yard. Pamela and her father knelt just beside the wheel attached to their house. A stream ran alongside to turn the great waterwheel, but it wasn't accomplishing anything just yet. The brass horns protruding from their small house were hollow and quiet.

"Pamela, you have to get inside in case they make it," her father protested. "The gibdos won't wait for me to finish."

"I'm not leaving you." She buried her face into his shoulder as he worked furiously; the white lab coat was soft in her fingers. His red hair was stirred by the gentle wind, as hers was. A panel at the base of their house was removed, while he squeezed a gear into place, chipping away an imperfection to finish the music box.

"Pamela, please," he said, though his eyes never found her. They remained absorbed with the tools in his hand. "Please go inside." His voice was shaking.

"I'm... I'm going to protect you," Pamela stammered. The gibdos' moans were growing louder. _Somebody has to_ , she thought. The little girl got to her feet, turning to face the monsters. They were only feet away, passing the small staircase leading to their front door. Her eyes nervously darted to the water shining beside her, before finding the gibdos again. She tried to count them, but grew scared after seven. They were in a pack together, and walked dazedly to close the last of the empty space.

"Pamela, you can't fight them," her father protested. His hands shook as he tried to fit the last gear in place. He sounded scared. "Please go inside"

"I can fight them," Pamela said, swallowing nervously. She tried to stop her legs from shaking as she stood in front of her father. "Don't... don't come any closer."

"Pamela, you can still make it if you run. _I can't stop. I can't_."

"Don't come any closer," the little girl stated, balling her fists by her sides to stop herself from trembling. The gibdos carried on as if she'd said nothing, mere footsteps away. She could start to smell them; the bright night only seemed to grow darker as their silhouettes cast over them. _How am I going to fight them?_ she thought. _You'll figure it out. Just be brave. Like your Papa_. "You'll regret it."

"Pamela..."

"Stop. Please. I'll... I'll fight you."

"Pamela, you have to run."

"Please!"

"... Pamela..."

"Don't hurt us."

"Pamela...!

" _No!_ "

" _I've got it!_ "

The white arms swiped to grab her face, and the sharp fingertips barely missed her nose. The little girl stumbled back into her father, and they fell in a tangled heap at the feet of the gibdos. Though, not before the final gear fell into place.

The entire multi-colored, brick house beside them seemed to shudder. The gears within the panel began turning in sync, along with the gentle flow of the stream nearby. The sound of rushing water was replaced with clanking, and, suddenly, music filled the air. The brass horns trembled, almost glowing with new life as a circus melody left their rims.

Pamela's father curled around his screaming daughter; the gibdos descended upon them. She could only wail in the warm darkness of his embrace. A terrible tearing noise was followed by another scream. Then, the attack stopped. Pamela heard grunting noises, and her father released her. She scurried away, eying the red dotting the clay ground before turning back to the gibdos.

They were grabbing the sides of their heads, moaning at the sound of the music. They swayed back and forth on their feet, clearly irritated by the whimsical music. All of them had stopped – not a single one continued the attack. They merely moaned in place, swaying. Pamela looked up to her father, who was curled into a ball gripping his shoulder. The open gash glistened in the night. "Papa!" Pamela exclaimed, running to the side of her father. The gibdos still cast a shadow over them, but she looked up with wide eyes to see their next course of action.

They burrowed into the ground. One by one, the wriggling gibdos retreated into the earth, vanishing into the clay in a mad dash to flee from the music. In a matter of moments, the sound of the undead was replaced by only water and music. The rhythm continued pouring from the brass pipes. Pamela looked up at the house for only a moment longer, eyes returning to the spot where the undead had been.

"Pamela...," her father said weakly, scooting back to rest against the side of the house. Her attention was turned back to him.

"Papa," she said, holding one shoulder worriedly as she knelt beside him. His other one was ripped open. The gibdos claws had sunk deep, and the wound was a ghastly crimson.

"You didn't go inside the house," he said.

"I couldn't let them eat you," she explained. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I just... I just need to find something to heal it," her father said, nodding his head eagerly. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "There has to be something at the bottom of the well I can use."

"But Papa..."

"It'll be okay, Pamela. It'll be okay. I promise."

* * *

The sound of his promise echoed through her memory as she awoke.

She pulled the covers up to her chin, shivering from underneath the blankets. _I don't like to remember that night_ , Pamela thought to herself. Nonetheless, the music continued from outside, even though the dream had ended. _Even though I know_ _I'll never forget it_. The music would always be a constant reminder; that had been the night the never ending song had started. _Until the stream went dry_. Though, that had been fixed eventually, and the curse placed upon her father, courtesy of the well, had been, too.

Pamela turned over in the cot, and her eyes found her father. It was always dark in their basement, but it was even darker when the lamps went out for the night. Her father must have gone to bed after she'd already fallen asleep. The second cot was across from her, and his mouth was agape, head rested on his pillow. Her father was a tall, lanky man, but the only thing protruding from his blankets was his relaxed face and bright, messy hair.

Pamela smiled, just across the floor from him. _I'd better not wake him up_. He'd been up late working, she knew, but the little girl was never able to return to sleep after a bad dream. Pamela threw the covers off herself. She slid from the thin bed on stilts, and her bare feet landed on the cool, stone floor. The girl ran along to the staircase, passing the counters, gadgets, boxes, and cabinets lining the walls. Her feet padded quietly up its length until she was in the dimly lit first floor.

Pamela peeked through the small window on the front door. Daylight still seemed far away. She turned the door knob and flung it open; the night was cool. The little girl stepped onto the porch and smiled at the beautiful night.

The stars were lanterns, and Ikana Canyon basked in its midnight glow. The clay ground stretched on blank and undisturbed. Water ran alongside to the left, and tall, canyon walls were on the right. Further to the left, the ancient, impenetrable walls of Ikana Castle towered hundreds of feet in the air. Their front yard of rock and clay went on several feet before ending on a cliff, and she knew over that would eventually be a path that lead to Clock Town.

Pamela sat at the edge of the porch, allowing her feet to dangle over the ground radiating coolness. The wind felt good on her feet; it got hot in the music box house sometimes. Her eyes scanned the ground to take in the black scars burnt into its rock. She wondered what ancient battle had been fought here to create such deep marks, but it must have been the same one that burnt down the surrounding shacks. Pamela smiled, however, craning back her head to look at the most beautiful thing of all.

The rainbow pulsated even in the night. It was always dimmer in the later hours, but it still glowed. The ribbon stretched across the sky, arcing over the canyon walls from thousands of feet in the air. _It unites all of Termina_. In her dream, there had been moonlight, but the moon no longer existed in this realm. It had turned into a light spirit many weeks ago. _That was a beautiful day_ , she remembered. She'd watched with her father as all of the spirits in Ikana Canyon had finally left, and the next morning, they watched the sunrise and the birth of the rainbow light. _The light spirit_. She'd never been shown proof that it was a spirit, but somehow, she knew. Shorty after its appearance, they'd gone to the carnival. _That was a good day_.

The events leading up to that still confused her, however. Her father's curse had been healed, the stream had no longer been dried up, and the undead spirits had left. It had all happened inexplicably. _There's something, or someone, I must be forgetting_. The only thing she could attribute it to was the light spirit; it had burst from the wicked moon to bring joy to everyone. She squinted at the burn marks in the canyon floor, however, and wondered if those were caught up in those events, too. _No, those are ancient_ , she decided. _And the shacks were burnt down when we got here_.

The gibdos hadn't been gone, though, but they were now. They probably weren't coming back, either. _All the undead left with the light spirit_ , she remembered. They would never stop playing the music, just in case; they hardly ever noticed it anyways. It was only when a nightmare reminded her that she even remembered it was playing in the background. _Forever and ever and ever_. Better safe than sorry, as they'd discovered with the creatures here.

Pamela remained sitting on the porch for an hour. Her eyes stayed fixated on the vibrant light, and the breeze danced through her toes. She looked to the well upon a hill to the right, wondering what stirred in its depths now that the undead had fled. She wondered where her mother was, and rocked back and forth on the porch's edge. Then, she returned inside. Pamela ran to the bookshelf, grabbed a book, and then returned to the steps.

She read by the light of the spirit and the stars. The volume was heavy and dusty in her hands, even though she'd only just purchased it at the last Carnival of Time. She found the marked page she left, and returned to her world of fantasy. The real world hung heavily above her, brightening as the sunlight returned.

* * *

"Pamela." The little girl looked up from her book. She sat comfortably at their dining room table adjacent to the staircase, and found her father. His red hair was sticking up in the back, and his groggy face was half-awake, but smiling. "You couldn't sleep again?"

"No," she responded, flipping a page absently as she stared off. "I had another bad dream."

"I'm sorry, sweetie." He walked over to the counter, tousling her hair as he passed by. "I think I've found some gray vines that would help you sleep, if you wanted something." She watched his hands go to the cabinets and pull jars to its surface. He unscrewed them as he started a fire in the hearth.

"I think I'll be fine," she said. "I'm not tired or anything."

"Do you want breakfast?"

"Sure." Pamela returned the book to its spot on the shelf. The cooked eggs and greenery were exactly what she'd wanted. The smell was amazing, but the taste was ten times better. In between bites, however, she found herself looking up at her father, eating across from her at the table. A question buzzed in the back of her mind.

"What is it, Pamela?"

"Do you think we'll ever move back to Clock Town?" she asked.

He didn't seem to know how to take that. "Why do you ask?"

"Just because I really like it down there, and we've been out here for a really long time."

"You know I can't leave my research just yet," her father replied. He looked down at his plate sadly, before turning back to her. "I thought you were happy."

"I am," she replied, shrugging. "I just like Clock Town a lot, too. There's more people there."

Her father laughed lightly, coughing when water went down the wrong way. "We're the only ones here. So, yes. There are a lot more people in Clock Town. We can go to visit later this week, if you want to."

"Yeah," she said uneasily, turning back to her food. She noticed her father watching her, and wondered what he was thinking. _I don't even know what I'm trying to say_. Did she want to move away from Ikana Canyon? _Maybe_. But there were things she liked about living here, too. Pamela remained undecided, but it never came back up.

Once every bite had left her plate clean and spotless, she scampered back to the front door, pulling on a blue shirt and dark pants as she went outside. "Be careful, Pamela," her father warned. "I'll be out in an hour or so."

"Of course, Papa." She closed the door behind her. Pamela wondered around the yard for a while, before eventually slipping off her shoes and dipping her feet in the stream. The rainbow was beautiful, starkly standing out in the vibrantly blue sky. The sun was fierce today. _It's always so pretty out here_ , she thought, as she turned to look at the canyon. _But it can get kind of boring_. She wondered how serious her father's offer had been to go to Clock Town soon. _I'd love to see some friends again_. Pamela didn't know if they would even remember her; it had been so many weeks since the carnival.

Pamela kept her feet in the water until they got cold. She pulled them out, watching as clay was dotted darker by her wet feet. The little girl allowed the warm clay to bake and dry them, running around the blackened scorch marks playfully. Eventually, she sat in the middle of one, looking back up to the well upon the hill. She'd noticed it last night for the first time in a while. _I wonder what is down there, now that all of the gibdos have left_ , she thought. _Papa's been there once since then_. Would it be dangerous for her to go see?

Pamela looked to the front door of her house, to see her father was still inside. _He'll never know_. He would never let her, of course, but he wouldn't stop her if he didn't find out. _I'll be okay. The gibdos are gone_. She was bored, any who. _I'll probably need my shoes_.

Pamela ran back to the stream to grab them, and then was walking along the incline to approach it. Stone surrounded a very deep pit, with rungs leading down into its darkness. Looking up, Pamela could see the river from the well's entrance. It flowed far, far below the cliffside her house sat atop. The dips and ridges were always so pretty.

The little girl turned back to the well. A sign was in front of it, as it always had been. _Empty Well. Entry prohibited due to ghost sightings_. Her father had placed that there to deter people who would hurt themselves. _But there aren't ghosts or gibdos down there anymore_. Pamela began to descend the rungs, though the metal bars were rough on her fingers. They were sturdy, however, and she climbed into the underground darkness. It grew cooler, and the sunlight disappeared above her. _An adventure_. Pamela couldn't help but smile.

The little girl let go a few rungs from the bottom, and her shoes landed on the stone well's floor. She looked up to see the distant daylight, and then turned to the cavern's dark mouth. _It is pretty dark_ , Pamela began to realize. It had been a while since she'd come down here. The little girl took a tentative step forward; there was a point where the light ended at a line, when the cavern system engulfed those who would step forward.

Two steps in, and she stopped again. Pamela turned back to the ladder leading up, having second thoughts. _There may not be any ghosts or gibdos down here, but it's still so dark_. Maybe she could ask her dad what was down here, and she wouldn't have to find out herself. _But this is an adventure_. Pamela reminded herself. She took another step forward, wondering how much longer her father would be inside.

"Please."

Pamela froze, and instantly, her eyes widened. The voice had been hardly a whisper, coming from the darkness of the cavern. Her hands were shaking as she backed into the light. "Who's there?"

"Please, just go away." The voice was so hard to hear. It sounded like a man, but he sounded very hurt. "Don't come in here." Pamela stopped backing away when she realized he sounded afraid. The little girl looked to her shaking hands and balled her fists. _Stop shaking. It's an adventure_.

"Is everything okay?" she asked the darkness. The small voice was coming from within it. "Who's there?"

"Nobody. Please, just go. I want to sit in the sunlight a little bit longer."

 _He's scared_ , she realized. _Or hurt_. Suddenly, all of the fear was gone. _He's not a monster_. "You can come into the sunlight with me," she said, backing up to stand fully in it. The rungs of the ladder were just behind her. "We can share it."

"You don't want to share anything with me. Please. Just go, and you won't have to see me."

"I promise I won't hurt you," Pamela said.

"I'm a monster," he said.

"No you're not," the little girl responded. "I can tell."

"You can't even see me. You're just a little girl."

"My papa used to be a monster," Pamela replied. "But I helped him." He had no response to that one. "Please. There's plenty of sunlight for both of us." She waited for something to happen, but he never said anything else. When she was about to take another step forward, he did instead.

The tall, slender figure stepped into the sunlight. He was wearing a black robe that covered every inch of his body. A hood covered his face, and black gloves covered his hands. She could find no distinctive trait about him, aside from his long, slender form. The face within was cast in shadow. He stood half in the sunlight, whilst the rest of him was bathed in shadow. The fear returned in her chest. "Are you scared now?" he asked, in that ghostly whisper.

"No," she lied, taking a step forward. "Why are you wearing a cloak? I can't see your face."

"You don't want to see my face," he said. "It's almost gone."

"How can you lose your face?"

"I died, and was laid to rest in a waterway."

Pamela paused for a moment, not understanding as his weak whisper of a voice left the darkness. She remained standing tall, however, with the rungs nearby in case she had to flee. "All of the undead left Ikana Canyon when the light spirit came," the little girl said. The hooded face remained facing her.

"The light spirit must have missed one." They remained standing there for a while, across from one another, until the mysterious figure moved next. She took a tentative step backward, and watched the man hesitate when he saw her retract.

"No, I... I'm sorry," she stammered. "You can come in here with me. I promise. I don't mind." She remained standing as the man entered the sunlight. His hood stayed drawn, however, so she never saw his face. He sat against the curved edge of the well, only looking up momentarily before casting his head back down. She saw a flash of his ghastly pale cheek. Pamela stood still, staring at him. Neither one of them said a word. The sunlight flickered before her, as dust particles danced in its rays.

Eventually, Pamela took another step forward, sitting against the rim of the well's wall with him. She drew her knees up to her chest as she sat there, looking off before she thought of something else to say. The man remained sitting far from her, staring off into the sunlight hitting the stone's bottom. "What's your name?" Pamela finally asked.

The man didn't respond immediately. "I don't think I'm ready to share that with anybody yet. I only just got it back."

"How do you lose a name?"

"When you sell it to a demon."

"Oh." She didn't know how to respond to that. "Are you a demon?"

He hesitated. "I don't think so."

"Why are you at the bottom of this well?"

"I don't know where to go," he responded. "Ikana Canyon is the land of the dead, so I thought I might find a home here."

"It's not the land of the dead anymore." She paused. "But, I guess since you're here, that might be different now."

A noise that might have been a laugh escaped from within the hood. "You've been asking me a lot of questions. Am I allowed to ask you some?" Pamela felt the fear return in her chest, but she kept it hidden. _This is an adventure_. "I'm sorry," the man suddenly said, before she could speak. "I told you I would frighten you, I..."

"No, it's okay," she interrupted, motioning him to sit back down. "I just... don't know what to think about you yet. That's all." The man didn't respond. "But you can ask me questions. That way... you can know what to think about me."

He took a moment to finally ask one. "What's your name?"

"Pamela."

"Do you live in the colorful house that plays the music?"

"Yes."

"Why do you live in the land of the dead?"

"My father likes to study things here. He says there are weird energies here."

"This whole land is full of weird energies," the man responded. There was another moment of silence after that.

"Why is your voice so quiet?" Pamela asked. "It's hard to hear."

"Because I died," the man explained. "My body started decaying in the water, and my throat is messed up."

"Do you have blood in your body, like me? Is your heart beating?"

He took a moment to respond. "Yes. But not as strongly."

"How did you come back from the dead?"

"A demon brought me back."

Pamela found herself disturbed by that answer, too. "The same demon?" she inquired. "Are you evil?"

He hesitated the longest after that one. "I don't know the answer to that question," he asked. "But I won't hurt you, Pamela. I don't think I ever want to hurt anyone else again."

She decided she liked that answer the best of them all. "Good," she said. They sat there for a little bit longer, before her head shot back up at another thought. "Are you hungry?"

"I... I don't know," he replied. "I haven't tried eating in a long time."

"I can bring you food," Pamela said, getting to her feet. "If you wait here."

"I don't know if I need..."

"Please, let me get you food," she insisted. The hooded face remained down so she couldn't see it, but he was looking at her, nonetheless. "It might make you feel better."

Eventually, he turned away, leaning back to the wall. "Will you stay here and wait?" Pamela asked. "Until I bring you food?"

He thought about that for a minute, until he made that noise that might have been a laugh again. Except, it didn't sound like he thought anything was funny. It sounded like he might have been happy. "I will wait here for you, Pamela. I don't have anywhere else to go."

"I'll be back," she said, nodding her head and smiling. "I promise." Pamela ran to the bars, climbing up the metal rungs and leaving the man with the cloak behind. She pulled herself out of the well and into the daylight, making her way back to her house... when she saw her dad stepping outside. Pamela froze in her tracks, pausing as her dad made a quick scan of the yard, before eventually spotting her on top of the hill.

"Pamela?!" her father exclaimed. "What are you doing up there?"

"I just wanted to see the river," she lied quickly, throwing one last glance at the well. _I'll have to wait until later_ , she realized. _Please don't leave me_. She wanted to bring him food and find out more about him. _I want to help him_. Pamela smiled as she ran back to the house. _An adventure_.

But she wouldn't tell her father. Pamela knew that after their encounter with the gibdos, he would never trust anything undead again. Especially one that had dealt with demons. _But he's good_ , Pamela thought. _I know it. I can help him_.

* * *

 **Note:** I'm back! I know I left a note in my previous story stating I wouldn't return to fanfiction for a while, but it turns out I had one last thing to say. Now that it's almost finished, I thought I'd upload Chapter 1.

As some probably noticed, this is a sequel to my novelization of _Majora's Mask._ Those of you who've read that hopefully were able to identify the man in the black robe. But if you haven't, _The Light Spirit_ stands on its own as a separate short story, so I encourage new readers to enjoy this one without having to read the other.

New readers should be aware that I break rather drastically from the "official" timeline; in my universe, Wind Waker takes place after Majora's Mask. Also, a **warning** : those of you interested in my novelization will find **major** spoilers for how that turns out in this story. While yes, it was a novelization, I also took heavy liberties with several of the storyline endings. I don't want to deter any of you from reading this because of that, but I thought I'd put the warning, all the same.

Unlike my first story, there will only be six chapters and an epilogue. It certainly won't compare in scope to _Majora's Mask_ , but then again, it was never supposed to. There was one loose end that I couldn't help but follow, after I finished the novelization, and this is where it lead me. I have no plans for further fanfiction writing after this, and plan on committing my time hereafter to original works. As always, I'll make sure to keep up with my account here, so feel free to message me even after this has been uploaded in its entirety. I'll probably space out the updates, since it may be my last time posting to this site.

While no where near the investment my last story was, it was still an immense pleasure to write. I love where it ended up going, and think it adds a worthwhile narrative to my other story, while also standing on its own. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

This time, she couldn't even fall asleep.

 _Papa's going to be so mad_ , Pamela thought, as she turned over in her sheets. Her father always noticed when she looked tired, and that would make him start asking questions in the morning. Her eyes shifted to look at him. He was fast asleep in the same position he always was. _He won't be mad if he can't tell you're tired, though_. 'Mad' might be a strong word. Her father would just be worried that she was so exhausted. _But he can't find out. He can't_.

She'd promised the man that she would bring him food, and yet, she hadn't been able to. _I have to do it soon, or else he's going to leave_. Pamela kept an eye on her father for a few moments longer, before deciding she'd waited long enough. _Now_. The little girl slipped out of bed in her night gown. Her feet padded softly as she went up the stairs. _He'll think I'm just going out to look at the stars, even if he does wake up_.

When she made it to the kitchen, Pamela grabbed a loaf of bread and sliced two pieces free. She added a random assortment of vegetables, and meat she wasn't entirely sure it was okay for her to use. With the sandwich in hand, she slipped on warmer clothes as she walked to the front door. _You have to help him_ , Pamela thought. _He seemed so scared and lost_. She closed the door behind her, and the nighttime air was crisp. The light pulsated from far above, amongst the stars.

Pamela ran down the steps towards the hill, clinging the sandwich tightly. _I can't let the wind blow it away_. She passed the sign, and started descending the rungs quickly into the well. "Hello?" Pamela asked. "Are you still here?" She struggled to hold the sandwich while climbing, hoping he wouldn't mind if it had touched the metal a little bit. She couldn't see the bottom yet. "Hello?"

"I'm here." The whisper was as soft as it had been earlier that morning. Her feet hit the bottom of the stone, and she turned to find him in the same spot. He was sitting against the circular wall, in all black garments. She wondered if he'd even moved at all. _He still looks sad_. His face was hidden, and his head was down.

"I brought you some food," she said, holding out the sandwich as she approached him. He never moved, keeping his head at an angle where he could just barely see her. Pamela tried to speak brightly.

"Thank you," he said after a moment, as she came to stop before him. The man hesitantly rose a milky hand that was no longer gloved, wrapping it around the bread. Pamela found the breath catch in her throat, as she tried to make sure his fingers didn't touch hers. _They're like skeletons_. He pulled it away to be in front of him, staring at it without actually doing anything. Pamela rose an eyebrow curiously, before she sat on the wall as close to him as she dared.

"You waited for me," she said.

He continued holding the sandwich in his hand, without eating it. "I did."

"I didn't expect you to," she admitted. "You didn't seem to like being near me that much."

"I'm a monster," he explained, as if that was justification.

"You said that last time." Pamela drew her legs up to herself as she had last time, too. _What can I say next?_ She didn't know. _And why isn't he eating my sandwich?_ "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Help me?" He seemed genuinely surprised by that, looking up only slightly.

"Yes. You seem really sad."

"Monsters can't be sad."

"Then I guess you're not a monster." There was a long pause after that, but she knew she had to wait for him to speak next. _You can't talk too much_ , she told herself.

"Who else lives with you in that house? Just your dad?" She wasn't sure how to take that question. _Is it safe for me to answer it?_ She thought so. He'd waited down here at the bottom of the well all day for her, and could have attacked at any moment. _He could right now, if he wanted to_. She was convinced he wasn't a monster.

"Yes."

"What happened to your mother?"

Pamela paused. "Papa said she ran away a long time ago. I don't know where she is. Sometimes, though, I think Papa is lying to me about it." She waited before elaborating. "I don't remember her very well, though. What about your parents?"

"I don't want to talk about that, either," the man said, looking away. "They're not here anymore, so it doesn't matter. They died."

"But the demon didn't bring them back?"

The man shook his head. "They weren't around at the same time. And the demon brought me back to life for his own reasons. He wanted to use me to corrupt the entire world, but a hero slayed him and freed me."

"You sound like you're angry."

"I am angry. The demon brought me back for a reason, and even though that reason was dark, now that he's gone, I don't have a reason to be alive. I... I'm just here, and the hero's gone, and _she_ won't even remember me, and I'm stuck here... " He paused, turning to look at Pamela with his head down again. He seemed to have noticed his own outburst, as well as the wide-eyed girl across the well from him. "I'm sorry. I... I've been doing too much thinking."

"You said, earlier today, that you came here because that's where dead people go," Pamela began. The man's head rose slightly at that. "... Is that true?"

"I want to find a way home," he answered. "And I thought Ikana Canyon would be the best place to look."

"Home?"

"It's a whole different world. But I'm not sure if it's possible for me to get back."

"Why do you want to go home?"

The man took a while to answer that question. "What else am I supposed to do?"

She almost responded by telling him he could live in Clock Town. _But he couldn't_. If it was true that he was undead, she had no idea how horrific the face beneath the hood was. She didn't even think she wanted to know. _That would scare everybody_. Pamela strained her mind to think of something. _He's all alone, and he has nowhere to go. I don't know how to help him get home_. Then, however, she knew what she could do. Pamela smiled.

"I don't know if I can help you go home," she started uncertainly, "but... I can be your friend."

The man turned in her direction again, appearing as tentative as always. "You would be friends with a monster?"

"No," Pamela corrected. "But I would be friends with you."

There was a long moment of silence, and the man eventually returned to the sandwich in his hands. The little girl smiled. "Here," she began, getting to her feet. "I'll let you eat your sandwich and think about it. I can come back in the morning and see what your answer is, okay?" He didn't respond, squeezing the white bread in his hands with his bony fingers. "I really do want to be your friend. I don't have any in Ikana Canyon either, except for my dad."

The man looked up at her the most he ever had before, though his face was still shrouded in darkness. "You don't have to say anything," she said. "Just think about it, and... enjoy the sandwich. It took me five minutes to make it." She turned to the rungs and climbed back to the late night. Pamela was smiling as she ran inside her house to crawl into her cot. _I think it worked_ , she said. _I got an adventure and a friend_.

* * *

The next morning, her father woke up way before she did. She stirred in her cot, only to turn over and find the one opposite her empty. Pamela gasped, sitting up straight in her bed. She paused when she realized there was nothing unusual about that, however, sighing. _He just woke up before you_ , Pamela told herself. _Stop freaking out_. In fact, she could hear him walking around upstairs.

The little girl laid there for a moment, resting her head back on the pillow as she messed with her hair. It was starting to get longer, so she'd have to start brushing it more often if she didn't want it all matted up. Her father had tried to teach her how to take care of it, but she'd figured it out mostly for herself. _I want to grow it out really long_ , she thought, running her hands through it. She remembered her friend from Clock Town, and how long her hair had been. _Hers was beautiful_.

Pamela sat up in her bed, but her thoughts were quick to turn back to the mysterious man beneath the well. _He still hasn't told me his name_. She would have to figure that out eventually; first, they'd have to become friends. _He's going to wait for me again. I know he will_. Pamela fell to the floor and walked up the steps, smiling and yawning as she saw her father. He had a book of his own open as he sat back in a chair, with an empty plate before him. He looked up from the pages when he saw his daughter.

"You must have slept well last night," her father said, resting the book down as he got to his feet. Pamela nodded her head as she sat at the table, too. She pulled her own book closer, which rested nearby.

"You don't have to make me anything for breakfast, though," Pamela said. "I don't think I'm hungry."

"Are you sure?" her father asked, turning from the open cabinet.

"I'm sure. I'll make a sandwich in a few minutes."

"Well, as long as you eat something." He sat down in the chair across from her, returning to his book.

Pamela absent-mindedly flipped the cover of her book up and down, eying her father as he eagerly read his own. "What are you reading?" she asked.

" _A History of the Ikana Family_ ," her father answered. "I don't think you'd like it very much," he added with a smile. The volume looked quite thick and dull, she decided, but she pretended to be a little interested, anyways, as she nodded her head. _He never stops working_ , Pamela thought with a sigh. "What are you reading?"

"'Time's End'," Pamela answered.

"'Time's End?'" her father inquired. "Is that the book I bought you at the Carnival of Time?"

"Sort of," Pamela explained. "You bought me a collection of different fantasy stories. The whole book is called _Tales from the Clockworks_ , but 'Time's End' is just the short story I'm on right now."

"It sounds interesting," her father said. "Probably more interesting than mine." There was another moment of silence, as Pamela's thoughts turned towards the story she had yet to finish. The hero seemed to be in some pretty deep trouble, but she knew he was going to make it to the end, anyways. _The hero always makes it to the end_ , she thought. Though, there was that lingering doubt in her mind that made her want to keep reading. She pulled the book into her lap to continue with the tale.

"Would you be okay if I went to the outpost today?" her father interrupted.

Pamela set the book down again. _If you leave, that's a chance for me to see the stranger_ , she thought immediately. The little girl tried her best to hide her excitement. "What are you going to do?"

"Pick up some gold dust."

"Gold dust?!" Pamela exclaimed, almost dropping her book. Her father talked about it all the time, but it seemed there hadn't been any for a very long while.

"Yep," he smiled. "In exchange for some gray vines. Apparently, there's a new region forming north of Snowhead, and they've recently struck a lot of gold dust. It's the first time we'll have an influx of that in a long time."

"North of Snowhead?" Pamela asked. "That's not possible either!"

"I thought so, too. But there's a new land being formed somewhere out there. I think it's called Zuboraland... or maybe Gaboraland? I'm not sure I can remember which, but two men by those names are planting the seeds for a town just as great as Clock Town."

"That's insane. Maybe we can visit there someday, too."

"When the roads are better," her father said. "That's the main obstacle they're facing right now. Snowhead's been improving a lot these past couple of months, but it's not ready just yet."

 _Everything's been changing since the light spirit came_ , Pamela reminded herself. She could recall their own Ikana outpost in her mind. Her father had commissioned the construction of one during their last visit to Clock Town; that way, he wouldn't have to travel all the way to the city every time he wanted to do business. The connections established during that last visit were now kept up to date via letters and deliveries made at that building. While it was usually unmanned, her father kept it locked up, ensuring that there was still a way for drop offs to be made.

"You said yesterday you wanted to go to Clock Town again," her father said, interrupting her train of thought. She didn't respond, turning from her book back to him. "I think I can make that happen." He added a smile. "I said last time by the end of the week, so... does three days from now sound like a good idea to you?"

"Yes!" Pamela exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "That sounds amazing. That's only seventy-two hours."

"We can stay for that long, too. It'd be nice for us to get a break from these canyon walls. Even without undead things, it can get pretty dreary."

 _Undead things_. Pamela gasped. _What if the strange man leaves?_ She knew she had to tell the man before then, or else he might assume she'd abandoned him. The little girl looked to see her father had noticed the reaction. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," Pamela said. "It's just so close. I can't believe it." His raised eyebrows told her he didn't believe that for a second.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. You know I love visiting there."

He pushed his skeptical look aside, rising from the table. "If you say so. I think I'm going to leave for the outpost in an hour. I want to get some work done first. Do you want to come?"

"No. I think I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" he replied. "You never turn down a trip."

"I know, but I want to finish this," she said, pointing to the book. "Or, the story I'm on right now."

Her father nodded his head uncertainly, before turning to go downstairs. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know."

"Of course, Papa."

* * *

She waited until he was a dot on the horizon, but then she waited even longer after that. _I have to make sure he's gone for good_ , Pamela thought. After he was, the girl pulled her feet from the stream to dry them, put on her shoes, and walked to the well. She paused before she went underground, however, looking up to the sky.

It was midday, and the sun was passing behind the brilliant band of colors. _The light spirit_. In that moment, it danced, as the rainbow seemed to stretch down in an effort to touch the clay. It never quite broke the blue boundary, but the colors extended nonetheless, clinging to the sunlight like beads of water on a vine.

She smiled. _I like it when that happens_. Every day at noon the sun passed behind the rainbow; she wondered if there would be a word for that soon. _There's one for when the moon goes behind the sun_. Of course, the moon was gone; the light spirit had taken its place. It was a new kind of eclipse, though it still had no name. _Maybe I'll get to name it_ , she thought. She could name it after herself. _A Pamela_. Or maybe after her father.

Pamela climbed down the rungs of the ladder as she had twice before. _This time, I know exactly how long I have_ , she told herself. The little girl had until her father returned from the outpost; hopefully, by then, they would have been able to talk enough. The rainbow spear cutting through the clear ocean above faded into a narrow dot, as her shoes hit the stone bottom. However, she'd known something was wrong before she'd finished the descent.

He wasn't there. Pamela took a step forward uncertainly, eying the spot on the wall where he'd last sat. There was only the dark stretch of the underground tunnel system's infinite depths. Her initial instinct was to call out his name, but she realized she didn't know it. _Is he down there? Is he hiding in the dark? Is he gone?_

She took a step forward, remembering the proposition she'd left him. If he was still there when she came back, it was because he'd accepted her request to be friends. But here he was – gone. _Should I go in after him?_ Pamela didn't think she was brave enough to do that. The little girl stood there uncertainly, staring at the darkness and occasionally looking back at the far away midday. Eventually, she walked to a spot on the wall and sat down. Maybe he'd gone somewhere.

 _I'll wait_. Of course, this could always just be his 'no.' She thought about the face hidden within the hood, though, and his past with a demon. Those thoughts caused the fear to return – of the man she didn't know. _It's an adventure_ , she reminded herself. Was an adventure safe, if it was with a stranger who hid in the shadows? _He seems so scared and hurt. You have to help him_. Pamela found herself fidgeting with her fingers as she sat and waited. All of this worrying wouldn't matter if he was gone for good.

In spite of that, she waited. The little girl interlocked her fingers and ran them through the dirt on the walls. Then, she got up and paced around, with her eyes constantly darting back to the darkness of the tunnel system. The boredom was laced with a constant fear; it was subtle but poignant. The stranger could return at any moment, and she wanted to be prepared when he did. She continued pacing, wishing she'd brought her book. _I want to find out what happens to the hero_.

Then, there was the soft shuffling of feet. Pamela rose her head. The tall, dark robe wondered in from the shadows, though he carried something in his hands. The little girl's eyes found that first. _It looks like a shield_ , she thought. The piece of metal wasn't very large, but it was beautifully decorated. Blue and red mixed with gray to form an unknown crest, with a collection of triangles at the center. It still seemed a little heavy, though, as the mysterious stranger held it. Dust was streaked along both sides, broken only where skeletal fingers had rubbed through it.

For a moment, neither spoke. The strange man stopped, as if having been caught red-handed with the shield. The girl took a moment to take in his appearance, as the undead stepped from the shadows. Unexpectedly, a smile crept onto her face. "You came back," she said.

He took a moment to respond, and what may have been a chuckle left his lips. "Yes." The whisper was as soft as it always was. "Why don't we sit down? I've been walking for a while now."

"You can get tired?" Pamela thought. Her heart stopped hammering when the familiarity of their dynamic returned. _I don't know why I was afraid_. "Do you still get older, too?"

"I'm not sure," he said, as he bent down against the ringed wall. He set the heavy, metal shield before him. "I haven't been undead long enough to find out." Pamela joined him, sitting on her usual spot on the wall.

"You found a shield?" the girl inquired.

"Yes," the stranger said, stroking the metal with a finger. "It belonged to the hero I mentioned earlier."

Her thoughts initially returned to the story she was reading, until she remembered his talk of heroes and demons the day before. _He sold his name to a demon, and the demon brought him back to life. But then the hero killed the demon and gave this man his name and freedom back_. "Did you meet him at the end of the well?" She was confused. _Why would a hero give up his shield?_

"No," he replied, sadly. "The hero died in order to slay the demon. He was braver than I ever will be." He paused, deep in thought until he remembered why she'd asked the question in the first place. "He must have left his old shield down here when he found a new one. I made it all the way to the secret entrance to Ikana Castle."

"Did you go in the castle, too?"

"No," the man answered. His face remained hidden in the hood, as always. "Once I found this, I turned back. The shield is from my home. The hero and I were both from the same place."

"That's so sad that he died," Pamela eventually said. She imagined a strong, noble warrior in shining armor, triumphantly stabbing a great monster through the heart. Though, when she saw how small the shield was, she wondered how large the hero truly could have been.

"His death was far sadder than mine."

"But why did you get a second chance, then?" Pamela asked. The stranger rose his head slightly. "What do you think the gods have in store for you?"

"I don't think there's anything left in store for me," he answered immediately. "I'm a leftover. There's nothing left for me to do."

Pamela felt a pang in her chest. It took her a moment to find words, but when she spoke them, they were accompanied with a smile. "At least you have a friend now." She rested back against the wall to look up at the sky, as he laid down the hero's shield. "Tell me about your home. What is it called?"

"Hyrule," he explained. "It's a vast kingdom..." He choked, however, with some realization. Pamela turned back down from the speck of sunlight.

"How did you and the hero get here in the first place?"

"Through magic that I no longer have control over," he explained. "A wooden shard from the clock tower doors would take me back. They are the portal between this world and all others, but the hero must have taken it with him."

"The clock tower doors?" Pamela's mind reeled, but immediately, her mind went to the dancing clock face in Clock Town. "You mean at the bottom of the tower?"

"Yes."

"What makes them so special?"

"They contain special light energy," he said. "I'm not sure we'd be able to find magic like it anywhere else. But I don't know if I'd go home, even if I could."

She knew his undead nature would ostracize him from the people of Clock Town, and realized the same might prove true in Hyrule. _Would anyone be able to accept him?_ She was accepting him, she realized. Surely, there was someone at his home that would welcome him back, even if his parents were dead. "You never know," she began. "Not until you go back..."

"There might be nothing to go back to." The little girl hadn't expected that. The strange man continued. "I came to Termina with the intention of finding something to save Hyrule. The kingdom was doomed to die in a great flood. If I returned..." He swallowed. "... there might be nothing left."

She didn't have anything to say to that. "I'm sorry."

"I am, too. Saving Hyrule came at too great a cost. I'm hopeful the world will find a way to heal, but probably long after I would be able to see it."

"There could be survivors, though," she added. "You never really know."

"Perhaps," he added. "Getting there is impossible, though, so there's no real reason to dwell on it."

Pamela took a long time before she thought of something else to ask. "Why did you go to Ikana Castle in the first place?"

"I was just hoping to find something," he said. "And I did." He gestured towards the shield, which laid face-up between them.

"The hero meant a lot to you, didn't he?'

"He saved me," the stranger responded. "Despite all of the terrible things I did to him, he still saved me." The words caught in his throat, which they were apt to do anyways, given how lightly he spoke. "He had the chance to kill me, with his sword held high over his head... he had the chance to do it. And he didn't take it. He let me live, even though that act of mercy may have cost him his life. I wonder..." He trailed off, to be lost in thought again.

"You wonder what?"

"I wonder if he forgave me." The man glanced at the girl again, without revealing his face. "I never got a chance to speak to him again, and I won't get that opportunity. He was the only person to completely understand me, and... I'd like to think that gave him the chance to forgive me. Even if he did choose to let me live, there's no way I could ever really know." He turned away from the girl. "I know you don't think I'm a monster, but even before I was undead, I did terrible things. Only a true hero could look past that hollow shell I'd become, to find a man."

Silence, at first, was all that followed. "I guess that makes me a hero, then," Pamela smiled. "We're friends, remember?"

The stranger laughed. "I haven't had a friend in a very, very long time."

"Maybe that's why the gods let you live. To find a friend."

"I'm certainly glad I found you," he stated with difficulty. "I thought I'd never speak to another person again."

"Well, as long as you want, you can stay here!" Pamela exclaimed. "We can talk whenever you're around, and maybe one day we'll find a way to get you home. Does that sound like a plan?"

"I'd say so." He paused, however, as if uncertain about something.

"What?" she inquired.

"I... didn't eat your sandwich."

"You didn't?"

"No. I was afraid of what would happen if I did." He looked away. "I haven't... you know... needed to drink or eat anything in a while, so I felt like if I did..."

"It's okay," Pamela said, smiling. "I wouldn't eat or drink if I didn't have to either."

"You wouldn't miss the taste of food?" He turned back to her. "I didn't eat it, but I did taste it... and it tasted pretty good. So I would have eaten it if I could."

"Maybe that can be something we try later. What's your favorite food?"

The man in the cloak laughed. "I've always been a fan of tomato pie."

"Tomato pie?" Pamela asked. "I've never heard of that before. We don't have that here in Termina."

"You do. Except here, it's called pasta bread."

"I love pasta bread!" She stopped, however, momentarily confused. "It's cheese, bread, and tomato sauce, right?"

"Yes, but it always tasted better in Hyrule."

"I'll make you a bet, then," she said, smiling. "If I can make you a tomato pie that tastes better than the pies in Hyrule, you have to try and eat it, to see what happens!"

Despite the darkness that hid his face, she swore she saw a smile deep within the hood. "Deal."


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

Pamela's eyes eagerly scanned page after page...

The hero swung his mighty hammer, spinning away from the dragon. They danced on the edge of time, with the swirling fire of ages baking the battlefield. Minutes, hours, years, and eras poured from the dragon's jaws, funneling out to pull the hero in. Seconds were stripped away from the air, as his lungs rasped for breath. The warrior fell to his knees, gasping, desperately searching for time that only flittered away. The horned beast pulled back its great wings, and reared its mighty neck over the cloud of ash and smoke.

When it brought its pointed teeth forward to cleave neck from shoulders, the hero brought forth his hammer instead. The sickening crack echoed through the inferno, an icy spear that drove through the heart of a blazing vortex. The dragon shrieked. Blood seeped between the cracks of the ancient evil, while its wings beat futilely to blanket itself in heat. Fire, time, and warmth were one as they left the dragon together, and it slipped away into a thick column of smoke. The heavy body crumpled into a heap, finitely resting its head on the battlefield. The last of the warmth fizzled upward until...

Cold. The hero took a breath, and watched as a white exhale passed between red lips. His breathing filled what was left in the aftermath: silence. A blue glow filled the room as crimson left; the coldness that settled in unnerved him. _I slayed the dragon_ , he thought desperately. _Why has the world grown dark?_ But he knew, before he even thought the question.

The dragon had been warmth, and from its mouth had poured the time that bound all of life in a never ending dance towards death. Now, there was only the present. He reached out a hand, searching desperately for past or future. He'd already forgotten how such things once burnt him. _But I don't want to stand still. Not in the cold_. The hero had slain death, but happiness was not to follow. He gripped the hammer in his hands uncertainly.

 _Time's end_ , he thought. Perhaps time, the greatest evil, was never meant to be slain. Even when its mighty jaws caused so much death. No less, they would have to learn to live in this world without time. _A world without fire_. A world where there was only a single moment to take in. The heavy silence would stretch forever...

Pamela read the last sentence in a daze. _The heavy silence would stretch forever_ , she thought. She held the thin page in her hand uncertainly. _No. That can't be it_. The little girl flipped it back and forth, unbelieving. However, on the next page, another story began, and the hero's ended. _It can't end like that_. What did it mean, that time had ended? What did it mean that the world only had one moment left to take in, that would last forever? _Is that the alternative to death?_ she thought. She decided the story ended confusingly, and that frustrated her.

"Is everything okay, Pamela?" She looked up to her father, who was working at his bench. The basement was as dim and dank as it usually was; the lamp beside her chair illuminated the book's words. He'd turned to face her, and must have noted her confused face.

Pamela's eyes fell back to her book. "It's fine," she replied glumly.

He smiled as he returned to his experiment. "You didn't like the way it ended?" He was working with some small, metal contraption, and sparks flew up as he touched it with an electric wire.

"It's just so confusing," she said. "It doesn't make any sense. And it wasn't a very happy ending... I think." Pamela read over the last line again. _The heavy silence would stretch forever_. The short story had been titled "Time's End," though she hadn't actually expected time to end. _Or for it to be so sad when it did_ , she thought. The hero had slain the dragon, but all had not ended happily.

"Sometimes the best stories are the ones that make us feel uncomfortable, and make us think," her father added. "Authors try to do that a lot of the time."

"But this was just _really_ unfair," Pamela responded, as she flipped to the author's name. "Cynthia Corbic wrote half the stories in here, so I'm not even sure if I want to..."

"What?" Something about the way he spoke caused Pamela to cut off. She looked up to see him fully turned to face her. The incomplete contraption was left unattended on his desk. "What did you say?"

Pamela didn't quite understand. She uncertainly opened her mouth. "I was just saying that I don't know if I want to read the rest of the stories, if they're only going to end like..."

"No, before that. You said the author's name was..." He paused, trailing off. Her father's eyes widened, and Pamela watched as he slowly shook his head. "Never mind, I..." He turned hesitantly back to his work, still shaking his head. "I thought you'd said someone else's name, I..."

"Who's Cynthia Corbic?" Pamela asked. Her father stared wide-eyed at the contraption on his table, hands set beside it. The little girl remained sitting in her chair, watching and waiting. A feeling in her gut told her who this woman was, though.

"I told you. I thought you'd said..."

"Is that my mother's name?" The silence that followed was all the answer she needed. Pamela waited for a response but never got one; they remained sitting in the basement, with her father staring blankly at his unfinished work. She didn't know how to feel, but she felt far, far away as she opened her mouth to ask something else. "Was she an author?" Her mind was ringing, and she suddenly felt faint. _Your mother ran away. She ran away when you were a baby_.

"Pamela," her father began, but he didn't add anything to that.

"You never talk about her," she said, jumping down from her chair. She hardly noticed as the book fell to the floor behind her. _He bought it for me at the Carnival of Time. But it's written by a bunch of different authors, so her name wasn't on the cover_. _He didn't know_. "You told me she ran away when I was baby. You told me it was too sad to talk about her. You never even told me her name."

"Pamela, that's still the truth right now," he said. "What happened... I still don't think I'm ready to talk about it, or that you're ready to know." He paused, taking in a deep breath. He still refused to face her. "I would never keep something from you if I didn't have a reason."

"But I'm old enough," Pamela said, stepping forward. "I deserve to know. I didn't even know she was an author, and I just read one of her stories, and that... that..." She wasn't sure what to add. "Where did she go? Is she coming back? Why would she leave us?" The questions she'd only dared to ask one at a time were suddenly fumbling out of her, and she felt more frightened than she ever had in her life. _If there's something he hasn't told me, then there's a chance she can come back. There's a chance we'll be a family again. There's a chance I'll have a mom_.

"She went...," he trailed off again.

"Went where?" Pamela asked. "Where did she run away to?"

"She didn't run away, Pamela." The answer sunk in like a heavy weight. Her chest felt burdened by an anvil the size of her house; the air left her. She shook her head, backing away. Her father had finally turned to face her, except he was crying now. "She didn't run away..."

"No," Pamela said, shaking her head. He didn't say it, but she knew what he meant. "Y-you wouldn't lie to me. I know you wouldn't."

"Pamela, I'm sorry," but she fled before he could make it across the basement floor. Pamela ran up the stairs and out the front door, ignoring the tears as her feet carried her across the canyon ground. She fled, but stopped halfway to the well. _No_ , she thought. _You can't go there. Papa will follow you_.

Pamela turned to the stream, and took a step in that direction instead. She swayed on her feet, but caught her balance soon after. The little girl sat by the edge of the water, bringing her knees up under her chin as she cried silently. She watched her reflection in the water as she sat there, shimmering with the image of the rainbow band in the backward. _The light_. She wondered if her mother would have thought such a light was beautiful.

 _Cynthia Corbic_ , Pamela repeated in her head. _It's a pretty name_. She refused to believe that her mother was gone forever, though. Her father just had to be lying to her again. _If he lied to me about that, then what else has he lied to me about?_ Pamela didn't know, but she didn't think his lie was meant to protect her. _How could a lie ever protect anybody_? She heard the front door open up on the house far behind her, but she never turned to look. She knew her father was standing or sitting on the porch, watching her. _Let him watch. I hope he feels terrible_. How could her own father lie to her about her mother?

She thought about the hero with the mighty hammer. _That was her voice_ , she realized. _The hero's voice was her voice_. Pamela felt the tears come down stronger at that, but she managed to wipe them away. _I wish I could go back to a moment with you. A moment that would last forever_. Though, her mother had made it sound like that would be a bad thing, in her book. Besides, she knew nothing about her; what if she'd been a terrible person? _No. She can't_. Just like she couldn't be dead.

The hero won; the dragon had been slain. Yet, her mother's voice was no where closer to her. She tried to remember what it had sounded like; only a vague silhouette returned to her from babyhood. But that was all. A voice was as far away as everything else about her. _The heavy silence would stretch forever_.

* * *

Pamela refused to look at him as she ate her peas. She kept her head in her plate, shoveling in one spoonful after another. Pamela could feel her father's eyes sadly baring down on her, but she ignored them. _I just want to eat my food_. She wished there was someone else out here in Ikana Canyon for her to talk to... The well would have to wait until later.

When she finished her plate, Pamela grabbed the dish and put it in the basin across the kitchen, turning to walk back to the basement. Her father only watched her with that same blank expression as she did. _He came over to me while I was sitting at the stream, but I had to ignore him_. There was nothing she had to say to him. If he was going to remain silent about her mother, then she was going to remain silent to him.

Pamela walked over to her chair, turned on the lamp, and pulled the book back into her lap. She turned to "Time's End" and found herself reading the last page again. _He reached out a hand, searching desperately for past or future. He'd already forgotten how such things once burnt him_. Pamela had never spent much time thinking about her mother, so she wondered if it was even fair that she was this upset. _Of course it's fair_ , she told herself. _She was your mother_. Of course, mother had always been a vague, elusive notion. Now, she had a name and a story.

 _A real person_. Pamela touched the words lightly, as she read them again. _My mother was a real person_. Her written words were beautiful, too. The little girl decided she liked the ending, now; it gave her something to think about. _Time is like fire_ , she thought. _It burns us, but it helps us. It runs out and leaves behind cold_. But the hero had slain time. _Did my mother know she was going to die?_ She merely read the last page again, and again and again.

 _Did she write this when I was alive? Did she write this because of something that happened to her? Did Papa know about this story at all? Did he even know she was an author, or was that before she met him?_ The hero brought up his mighty hammer again to split the dragon's skull in two. The hours slipped away around her as she read of the dragon's defeat repeatedly. _I can find my mom in the words_ , she thought. _I can figure out who she was if I keep reading. The answer is here_. She wouldn't get the answers anywhere else.

"Pamela."

Her head shot up from the book. Her eyes found her father standing on the staircase, gripping the railing and looking at her uncertainly. She didn't respond. "I know you're mad at me," he began, to which Pamela turned her eyes back to her book. "And you have every right to be." He continued closing the space between them. "Because it's my fault. I just haven't been ready to talk about it, and..."

"I kind of just want to read," Pamela interrupted, looking up from her book. "For tonight." Her father looked hurt, but for some reason, that made her happy. _You hurt me, too_. "Please?"

"Can we talk tomorrow, then, Pamela?" her father asked. "We've never kept things from each other, and..." He cut off, however, seeming to realize what he'd just said. Pamela only shot him a poisonous look. "Except for this, but..."

"Papa, we can talk tomorrow," she interrupted.

"All right," he added finally, sounding defeated. "If that's what you want." He walked uncertainly to his cot, changed into sleeping attire, and then went to bed without another word. Pamela merely watched him; however, when he looked her way, she realized the guilt must have been showing on her face. The girl quickly turned back to her book, as her father went to bed. The lamp pierced the darkness of the basement, illuminating her page.

 _I can talk to the man_ , she told herself. They'd been talking for two weeks now. Whenever she had the time, and could sneak away from her father, she would go to the bottom of the well. Only on one occasion had he never shown up, but then, he'd been back the next time. They would talk, and he would slowly learn more about her as she slowly learned more about him. _Though, not his name_. Any information at all came from him reluctantly.

She'd been upset at her father for delaying their visit to Clock Town, but at least it had given her more time to talk to her secret friend. Pamela had managed to hide her disappointment towards her father then, though this was an entirely different situation. _At least delaying our trip gave me more time to get to know him_. Now that they were better friends, she would feel better whenever they did finally go on their vacation. _But I'm still no closer to helping him_.

She had to keep trying, though. _And now I need him_ , she thought. A third party to talk about her mother and father was exactly what she needed. _He'll know_ , Pamela told herself. _He has to know_. She turned back to her book for the time being, though, knowing she'd have to wait until later. Until she was certain her father was asleep.

Pamela read the last page several more times, before climbing into the cot beside her father's. She rested her head on the pillow but refused to sleep. _Just another hour_. As she laid there, the little girl realized she had the last words in "Time's End" memorized. So, she repeated them in her head as she laid there, gripping her pillow tightly. _No less, they would have to learn to live in this world without time. A world without fire. A world where there was only a single moment to take in. The heavy silence would stretch forever_... _the heavy silence would stretch forever_...

Pamela's eyes shot open when she realized she'd almost fallen asleep. She rubbed them and stirred under the covers, wondering if she _had_ actually fallen asleep. Pamela turned over to see her father lying, mouth agape, on his bed as he always did. The sight made her smile. She was mad at herself for smiling, though, and then decided that she was mad at herself for being mad at herself. _You can't stay mad at him for long_ , she thought. Looking at him lying there, Pamela knew her father would never intentionally hurt her.

Nonetheless, she needed to talk to the man. Pamela landed on the cold floor, walked up the stairs, and slipped into the late night.

* * *

As always, the brilliant rainbow was the first thing she saw.

It cut across the sky and was as permanent as a scar, but it was too beautiful for 'scar' to be the right word. _We need a name for it_ , Pamela thought again, though she knew that wouldn't be her job. She looked out at the blank canyon ground, and watched its multi-colored glow reflect off of the cool, dark surface. It was much brighter than it usually was. _It's flaring. The light spirit is singing_.

The little girl with the shoulder-length, brown hair ran to the well, smiling. The air was pleasant on her face. _It feels amazing outside_. It always did in Ikana Canyon, though, now that the undead had left. _All but one_.

When Pamela made it to the well's deep darkness, she didn't hesitate. The little girl descended the metal rungs until she reached the bottom. When she'd returned, the cavern leading onward was there, as always, and so was the shield the man had found in their first couple of days talking. He was there as well. The mysterious figure in the dark robes still had a hood drawn, back against the circular wall. He rose his head to see her, and even though she'd never seen his face, she could always tell when he was smiling.

"Hi," Pamela said happily.

"Hi," he responded. "Did you finish your book?"

Pamela, who was still standing at the bottom of the rungs, felt her smile fade. She could feel his fade, too. "Yeah," she responded emptily. She'd delayed finishing the story as long as she could, but had finally brought herself to do it earlier today. Pamela had forgotten she'd been keeping him updated on that.

"Was it a sad ending?"

"Kind of, but that's not what has me upset," the girl said, as she walked to sit down near him. "I found out something today."

The man remained silent for a moment. "What did you find out?"

"I...," she paused, choking on the realization. _If you don't say it, it's not real. If you don't say it, it's not real_. Instead, she confessed the easier truth. "My mother was the author of the story."

"She was?" he asked, confused. "You never recognized her name?"

"My father never told me her name." He took a while to respond, either processing the words or remembering the first time her mother had been mentioned. "Until I said it out loud, and he freaked out."

"Did you find out anything else about her?" he asked. "Did your father tell you?"

"He...," she paused again, unable to speak over that bubble in her throat. _Don't say it_. "He... said that she didn't..." _If you say it, it's real_. "He said she didn't run away, and..." She felt her hands shaking. _The hero. Be brave like the hero. The one that slayed the dragon_. "I think he said that she's dead."

When she stopped, and turned back to the mysterious man, she realized she was crying again. _Don't cry_ , she told herself, wiping the tears away angrily. _You're supposed to help him. He's not supposed to help you_. Once she brought her balled hands down, she looked up to see the empty hood staring at her. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

"Your mom died, too," Pamela said without thinking. "Do you know what happened to her?"

"A thief slit her throat. It happened right in front of me when I was about your age." The little girl was stunned into silence. She opened her mouth to try to find a response, but there wasn't one. Suddenly, she was furious at herself for crying. "I'm not saying that to make you more upset. I just... wanted you to know that I know what that feels like, too."

"How could you live with that, though?" Pamela asked. "I can't even imagine."

"A friend," she heard him whisper, from within the hood. She thought a small laugh was behind it, too. "A stranger saved me that night, and she became the most important person in my life." Pamela thought about that, bringing her head down as she turned the words over. "I think having someone else is the most important thing. No matter what happens, as long as you have someone else."

"The story ended with the hero killing the dragon," Pamela added. "But it wasn't a good thing, when the dragon finally died. It was supposed to be there, and people were supposed to get burnt, I think. That was just apart of life. Without the dragon or the fire, life was just an empty moment."

They sat together for a long moment after, simply in one another's company. "Your mother sounds like she was a beautiful writer," he said.

"That's the only thing I know about her," she replied. However, the word 'beautiful' made her think of something else. "The light spirit!"

"What?"

"Have you seen it tonight?" She'd mentioned the band of colors multiple times to him, but its flares were so rare. She'd almost forgotten to bring it up. _It almost looked like it was trying to touch the ground. Just like the day when I first met him_.

"No," he replied. "Is it different, somehow?"

"Yes. It's beautiful!" She jumped to her feet, looking up the vertical length of the well. The spirit wasn't visible from there. "We should go up and look at it."

"Go up?" the mysterious man asked. He uncertainly got to his feet. "I haven't left the well in so long..."

"It'll be good for you!" she exclaimed. "And the light spirit rarely flares up like it does tonight. You have to see it." She turned to see his hesitancy, visible even from the darkness of the robes. "Please?"

He took a moment to respond, but eventually did with another invisible smile. "Just for you."

"Good," she said, nodding her head. "My father won't wake up for a while, and there isn't anyone else in these canyons, so you don't have to worry about anything." Pamela turned to climb the rungs, and looked down to see if he was doing the same. The man wrapped in darkness was climbing from the sewer system behind her. The little girl smiled, looking back up to see the light of night.

When Pamela climbed out of the hole, the light spirit was brighter than she'd ever seen it before. The colors flared outward, connecting with the stars as vibrant ribbons would. They danced, filling the spaces of blackness with light. The pulsating lanterns swam in the ocean of color, beating down on the blank, canyon ground that could only faintly shine back its brilliance. "Whoa," Pamela said, smiling broadly as she stood. The man crawled out beside her, getting to his feet.

"Look at it!" the little girl said, waving him to view it. The man took slow strides, until they stood at the edge of the hill, looking up. The light spirit was gorgeous; its wings extended to encompass all of Termina. Pamela smiled at all of it – the breeze, the colors, the young night. Her mother was momentarily forgotten. She turned to see the man's hood facing the lights as well. They faintly illuminated whatever was underneath, but it was still hard to tell.

"It's amazing," he whispered, standing in awe.

The little girl watched him ecstatically. "The last time it did that..." However, a gust of wind filled her face, as well as her companion's. The stranger's hands were by his sides, though, and no where close enough to stop the air from filling his hood. The rims fluttered out, and it fell to expose the face underneath.

Black, shocked eyes found her, but the flesh around them was ghastly and white. His skin was milky, rotted, and peeling from bone. A greenish tint shot across his face, exposed by the brilliant light, along with the gaping holes along his jaw line and cheeks. Frayed, red hair spouted out of a barren scalp, as holes, age, and decay presented a skeletal face as dead as it was horrifying. His black lips were the only things that remained intact, though they surrounded teeth that were spotted and brown. The dead man gasped, and she watched muscles pull tightly in a throat exposed without skin.

Pamela shrieked. Her high-pitched, guttural wail caught even herself off-guard, as she took a step backwards. Her footstep met thin air, however, and the man's arms shot out too late.

Pamela found herself tumbling down the hill, head over heels. She was still in shock as she rolled, dragging across the rough rock. Her head slammed into a jutting corner, and everything became blurry and dazed as she fell to land on the plain of rock stretched before her house. Pamela tried to get to her feet, but fell immediately to her face. She saw red dotting the ground in her blurred vision.

"Papa," she whispered softly, collapsing. The little girl remained lying there as she brought her hands to her forehead, where the pain was sharpest. Her hand came back shining, and the red curtain was quick to pour over her face. She tried to wipe the blood away, sobbing now as she stammered to her feet. "Help me." Her shoulder hurt, too, though, and everything was still dizzy.

Hardly standing, she turned to see the man in the black robes sprinting towards her. He'd abandoned keeping the hood over his head, exposing the ghastly face underneath as he approached her. He was shouting something at her, but his voice was too soft for her to make it out. "I fell," she said, as the world continued spinning.

"Pamela, are you okay?" She felt cold hands on her as she rose into his arms, just as skeletal as the face she'd seen. _Was that his face?_ She couldn't see through the sheet of blood. In the distance, though, she heard another voice. It was much louder and commanding.

" _PAMELA!_ "

"Father?"

"She's hurt...," the whisper was so faint, however. She still couldn't see. Pamela heard a few words as faint as the last, but when she looked up, she was suddenly dropped. The little girl hit the canyon floor, and she turned to find her father's face. Fury was etched into every line of it.

" _YOU GET AWAY FROM HER! YOU GET AWAY FROM HER NOW!_ " There was something in her father's hands, and Pamela fought the dizziness to stagger to her feet. She wiped the blood away, but reality still felt faint when she saw the metal pipe. It was thrown into the undead man's face, and she heard a sickening crack as his head flew to the side. " _DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH MY PAMELA!_ "

" _Papa, stop!_ " Pamela shrieked, running to the side of her father. " _Papa!_ "

The robed man tried to defend himself, but he only had weak, skeletal arms and hands. His pleas for mercy were too soft, dying in the gentle wind. The pipe came down on him again and again. Each time it was lifted off, only to slam into the light, dry sack of bones that had returned to life. Pale flesh fell from the metal pipe, illuminated on the glowing canyon floor. The man collapsed onto the side of the steep hill, raising his hands futilely as the pipe came down again.

" _Papa, no!_ " Pamela threw herself into her father, pulling on his arm with all of the strength she had. Her father turned away from the undead man, with his eyes blazing and angry as they found his daughter's. " _Don't hurt him! He's my friend!_ "

"He's the same type of monster that killed your mother!" her father spat back furiously, turning to face the creature. "I'm not going to make the same mistake again."

He rose the pipe, but Pamela leapt in between the stranger and weapon. " _No!_ " Her hand went to catch the metal, but it knocked her to her feet. Pamela's head spun again as another sheet of blood fell across her face. Her father was horrified as he backed away, letting the pipe clatter to the ground.

The little girl laid in the dirt as she looked up. Her father fell to his knees to lift her, but she could still see the robed man. She watched him scurry to his feet and flee. The mysterious stranger sped across the canyon floor, which was vibrant with reflections of the light spirit. _No_ , Pamela thought, as the world faded into a deep darkness. _Don't leave_.

The shadow ran across the nighttime sky, and the colors danced at his feet.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

Pamela stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open to find her father.

"Pamela," he said, near laughing. "Oh, Pamela, thank Nayru you're okay." She felt his fingers rubbing her forehead, and running through her dirty hair. The little girl brought her hands to her face, as their dank, darkened basement came into view. Her hand found his, and she wrapped her fingers around it tightly. Her father's eyes brightly looked upon her, leaning over the cot. "How do you feel?"

"I feel...," she trailed off, taking her fingers from his hand to touch her forehead. The wound there was tender and long, and she could feel the stitches in it. She brought her hand away immediately, stirring on her pillow. "It hurts."

"It's just a scratch," he said, nodding his head. His smile faded, but he grabbed her hand in his again to squeeze it. "I promise, you'll be okay. It wasn't able to do anything else to you, and I won't let you get infected. I've cleaned it, but I don't think that monster bit you. I chased it away."

 _It_. She remembered the ghostly face. The light spirit had danced on his pale cheeks, clinging to the faint rags of skin and flesh that remained. Mostly, there had been bone and empty space; the skull-like face had almost glowed in the rainbow light. Yet, the lifeless, decaying body had eyes that flickered to her, terrified as she took a step backward and screamed. The horror to pass from her lips had been nothing compared to the horror in his eyes. They'd shone, knowing what was to follow.

"He's not an 'it,'" Pamela replied. She shook her head and closed her eyes. The dizziness was faint, but still there from moving. The pipe flashed across her memory, striking the undead man in the face and sending him into the wall.

"What?" her father asked, confused.

"I said, he's not an 'it.'" This time, she ripped her hand away from his, and sat back up in her bed.

"Pamela," her father stammered. He reached out for her hand again, but his daughter sat up, eyelids blinking sluggishly as she straightened herself. "You need to lay back down." Pamela remembered how the shadow had run. The ground had been a mirror, and it'd looked like the lights were guiding him. "You're going to hurt yourself." He tried to grab her shoulders, but she shrugged his hands off. Her feet fell to the floor, and she staggered into the cot opposite hers, catching her weight on it before she fell. "Pamela!" her father exclaimed more urgently, rounding the bed to grab her.

" _No!_ " she yelled, flinging her hands out to push him away. Her father took a step backward, retracting his hands uncertainly. Despite the wounded look he gave her, Pamela looked up defiantly. "You hit him with a pipe. You tried to kill him."

Her father didn't seem to understand, shaking his head. "Pamela, he hurt you."

"No, you hurt me!" she retaliated.

The pain in his face was easy to read. "You know I would never hurt you. That was an accident, and I'm sorry it happened. I was angry, and I didn't see you and... and that injury on your head isn't from me. I only knocked you over. That monster is the one who ripped a scratch into your forehead."

"He's not a monster!" Pamela exclaimed again. "He was my friend. And you tried to kill him."

"He's not your friend," he replied sternly.

"He didn't hurt me," Pamela said, though her father kept talking over her. "I only fell."

"He's a monster, Pamela. Didn't you see him?"

"... I only fell down the hill. He was trying to help me... "

"... he had you in his arms and you were bleeding..."

"... you couldn't hear him. He was trying to explain..."

"... Pamela, you passed out and I carried you back into the house..."

"... he was scared, he was trying to tell you..."

"... I found him leaning in to bite you, and you were already bleeding..."

"... he wasn't hurting me..."

"... those things are ruthless, Pamela."

"We've been talking in the well for weeks, and he didn't hurt me. He was my friend!"

"Friends don't look like that."

" _You don't get to tell me what my friends look like!_ " She felt tears welling in her eyes; Pamela's yell stopped her father's voice immediately. He stood there in shocked silence. The little girl felt clarity return to the world, at the sound of her strong voice. She clenched her fingers into fists, and felt warmth flowing through them strongly. Pamela swallowed, when she realized she had her father's attention. "And you don't get to keep my mother from me."

Her father's sad expression only deepened further into despair. "Pamela..."

"No! My mother wrote that book, and you said..." She remembered his voice, as he'd beaten the stranger with the pipe. "... you said a monster just like him killed her. That she didn't run away." He didn't have a response, merely standing there with his mouth closed. "But _he_ 's not a monster. He's just not like the rest of us. He was brought back from the dead, but that isn't his fault and he's not here to hurt anybody."

"People don't come back from the dead," her father responded solemnly. He remained standing with her in between the cots; his back stood tall as she leaned against the opposite one. "Only monsters do. You've seen them in Ikana Canyon before. Remember how they hurt me? Remember how they cursed me?"

"He's different. He's not wrapped in paper, and he doesn't moan... He has a past, and a family. A life. He remembers it."

"They're not all stupid, Pamela. Do you think the one that killed your mother was stupid?" he responded sharply. "Your mother would never have gone anywhere near a gibdo. This monster came to her, for help. But it was tricking her, and it killed her."

"But he wasn't trying to kill me. He was helping me."

"The only thing those stories did was disillusion her," her father suddenly spat. Pamela blinked in surprise, backing into the cot further. "She thought she was going on an adventure, but all she was doing was getting herself hurt." _An adventure_ , Pamela thought weakly. "I'm not going to let the same thing happen to you."

She remembered all of the words the mysterious stranger had spoken to her, and realized she'd never learned his name. _My mom thought she was on an adventure, too_. What if he had been lying to her? What if the man in the robes had meant to hurt her? _But he sounded so hurt, and lost..._ "He wouldn't..."

"I would never lie to you, Pamela," he placed his hand on her shoulder. "I know what I'm talking about when I say he was dangerous. All undead creatures are dangerous. When a person dies, they're gone forever. They can't come back. The only thing inside of him is unnatural, dark magic. The man he once was is never coming back."

The image of her father trying to bring a dead woman back to life suddenly flashed across her mind. He saw him, hovered over a corpse in denial. She wondered if she'd discovered his motivation for a career studying the undead. "You did lie to me," Pamela realized, backing from his grasp again. "You lied to me about my mom, by saying she ran away."

"Do you know how hard it would have been... for me to tell you that your mother is dead?" She looked up to see tears shining in his eyes, too, now. "I couldn't tell you that. Not when there was a chance..."

"You could have told me easily," Pamela said, interrupting him. "'Your mother's dead'. There, I said it!"

"It's not that easy, Pamela," he said. "She's gone forever. For good. I tried, so hard... and how was I supposed to tell you, a baby, a toddler, a little girl, that you would never see her again? That she was wiped away from the world like she never even mattered?"

"But you lied..." The tears came openly, but she didn't even notice as her heart raced in her chest, and her mind reeled.

"Did you want me to tell you how I held her in my arms when she died? How she was there one moment... talking to me, and touching my face, and then how _she_... everything that was _her_... turned off, so her arms just became lifeless pieces of flesh. Her eyes were still there, her lips, her mouth, her brain... it was all still _there_... But she wasn't..."

"Papa," Pamela stammered, as her lips quivered.

"That thing is not a person," her father replied, in hardly a whisper. His voice was too choked with tears. "Life is a fragile, fragile wheel, that doesn't ever start turning again once it's broken. I'm not letting you get hurt."

Pamela took a long moment to respond, turning the words over in her mind. _Like a wheel_ , she thought. _But there's one in my friend's head, too. I know it_. "You're wrong."

"I wish I wasn't," he said shakily.

"You're wrong," she repeated, pushing him out of the way.

"Please just lay back down. I'm sorry."

"I have to go find him," she said, irregardless. "He's out there, and he could be hurt."

"You're not leaving this house. Not until you're better, and not to find that monster."

She continued making her way to the staircase. "You can't tell me what to do." He reached out a hand to grab her shoulder, anyways.

"Pamela..."

" _No!_ " She spun around and shoved him. Her father stumbled back into the cot closet to them; he tumbled over and collapsed in a heap of blankets and metal frames. He stirred confusedly, but Pamela only let her eyes widen in shock for a moment. The little girl turned on her heels and ran, fleeing up the staircase. She hardly felt light-headed, but she still held her head gingerly as she made for the front door. She could hear her father shouting her name below.

Pamela hardly took note of the bright light in the sky. Instead, she leapt over the small, wooden staircase and landed in a soft patch of dirt. The blank landscape stretched onward, and she knew the line where it ended at the gorge was too far away. _Father will see me_. Yet, that was the way her friend had run. Pamela looked around frantically, and saw the shadows cast in the underside of the porch.

The girl ran there, hiding under the floorboards and bringing her knees under her chin. She scooted against the foundations of her house, holding herself close as far into the darkness as she could. Hardly any light peaked in from above, in between the slats of wood, so she remained there. Pamela could only hear her own breathing and the sound of the music wheel, waiting. _It's okay_ , she thought. _It's going to be okay_. When the front door opened several moments later, she quickly drew in her breath.

"Pamela!" her father shouted. She heard his footsteps on the wood, and could only see faint slivers of his shoes. He paused on the stairway separating them, with his daughter hiding underneath. She waited, wondering where he was looking or what he was thinking. She wondered if he would realize it was impossible for her to have made it all the way across the landscape. She worried, listening to his shifting weight as he took uncertain steps, and looked around.

"The well," she heard her father stammer. Then, he went flying. His feet left the wood, hit dirt, and ran. Pamela listened to his footsteps vanish, and remembered she'd told him about her conversations at the bottom of the well. _He thinks I'm going there to find him_. It was much closer to their house, and she realized it was quite reasonable that she'd made it that far. The little girl waited until, eventually, she dared to crawl out.

Pamela immediately turned in the direction of the high hill. At its top, she knew the well sat, but her father was no where to be seen. He must have already gone inside. The hill she'd tumbled down was still there and as high as ever, leading into the landscape she cautiously stepped into. The little girl looked around, taking uncertain steps as her eyes cut through the night. The light spirit danced above her. _You have to do it_ , she thought. _You have to help him, like you said you would. He needs you_. Pamela turned to the end of the blank canyon ground. _Now's your only chance_.

Pamela held her breath, biting her lip. _An adventure_ , she thought. _A real adventure, where you take chances, knowing you might get hurt_. She realized it wasn't an option. If she went back home, her friend would become the monster her father wanted him to be. Pamela ran towards the gorge.

* * *

The hunger was quick to set in. Pamela clutched her stomach as she walked over the rock, passing in the dark shadow of the canyon wall. _I wonder how long I was knocked out, after Papa found me_. It couldn't have been too long, but her longing for food was hard to ignore.

The river beside her didn't help with thirst, either. The pathway was bordered on the right by sheer canyon walls, while the left dipped in far enough to house the rush of murky water. The river was far below the edge of her pathway, but foamed nonetheless as it raged through the crevices and boulders. The sky pulsated a deep bruise above her, with the rainbow lights remaining an ever-present mark. She trudged onward, immediately having thoughts of returning home.

 _My head still feels funny_. She felt the stitched wound, and realized she'd never even looked in a mirror to see how big it was. It felt bad enough, but she knew her father had done a good job stitching and cleaning it. _But he does a terrible job listening to me_. Pamela wrapped her arms around her bare forearms, shivering in the gentle breeze.

 _My friend wasn't going to kill me_ , she thought. It was all her fault. She'd talked him into leaving the well, and she'd even been the one to scream, fall, and hurt herself. Yet, the stranger had gotten all of the negative consequences. _I shouldn't have screamed. That's exactly what he was afraid would happen when he first met me. I shouldn't have screamed_. But she hadn't been expecting that. She realized she should have, but the darkness underneath his hood had simply become his face. The skull underneath had been too horrifying. _But the man underneath is a true friend_.

She wondered if her father really had tried to bring her mother back to life. Pamela knew if that was true, he must have failed, and wondered how the demon had gotten that power. _My father is definitely not a demon, so he couldn't. Maybe only a demon is powerful enough to bring a man back_. She'd seen it in her friend's eyes; he was there, despite the fact that he'd been dead. She had to prove that to her father, but in order to do that, she had to find the robed man and make sure he was okay.

Pamela stumbled slightly, catching herself on the wall. She realized how badly her feet hurt, and how cold she was getting. Her head was swimming again, which had caused her to trip. She didn't fall, though, shaking the dizziness away and looking back up. The path continued curving in the same direction. She'd climbed down the trail leading into the gorge, crossed the river over the repaired bridge, and had gone to the left, eventually finding the hidden pathway leading deeper into the canyon.

 _You have to keep going. If you go back now, Papa will never let you leave again_. It was up to her. Every corner she rounded, she expected to find the man in his black robe, huddled against the wall and near the edge, shaking from his injuries. _How am I even going to help when I find him?_ One thing at a time, she decided. First, she had to make it to him. The path kept going blankly, however, and the river kept foaming far below her.

Her head kept hurting, too. _I have to stop_. But if she did, her father would catch up to her. Pamela had no idea how long her father would stay in the well, but there were quite a lot of tunnels down there. So maybe she had a while. _I can't rely on that, though_. She also worried that he might get hurt again. Her darkest hour had been when her father was cursed. While the gibdos that attacked their house had infected him, the journey to find something to cure him in the well had only made it worse. _All the undead have left now, though_ , she told herself. _Except one_.

Pamela decided she couldn't wait for a break, after all. She half-stumbled into the wall, sitting down at its rocky base and pulling her legs to her chest. The little girl shivered for warmth, trying to ignore her hunger and her thirst. She could hear the swishing river, though, and that made her want water badly. _I can't drink that water. I can't even get to it_. She kept shaking, and felt her head nodding off. Pamela thought of her cot, and her father. She wondered if she could even make the walk back to her house. Her cut kept throbbing. _Stay calm. You have to get up, and keep going. Keep the adventure going. You have to save him_.

She couldn't even find him, though. There was no sign.

Eventually, Pamela decided she had to keep trying. Her arms shook as she pulled off the wall to get back to her feet. The wind rocked her off balance, but she steadied herself and took another step forward. _I'm coming_. She wished she had a name to say in her head. _His name. The first thing I'm going to ask him for is his name_.

Pamela lifted her head and realized she'd only taken three steps. She shook again when the wind blew, and saw that the path kept going. The right turn was far off, though, and seemed like an impossible distance. _But it's just right there_. Pamela took another step, and her cut throbbed. Her tongue was dry, and she wondered how long she'd been knocked out again.

The next time a gust blew over her, Pamela's feet criss-crossed into a stumble. The girl lost her balance, and she discovered she was falling the wrong way. _Not again_ , she thought stupidly. Her hands flew out for something, but she stumbled away regardless.

The empty air proved ungraspable, and the pathway's edge fell further and further away as she plunged. Her stomach was empty and the cool air whipped around her. The light spirit got smaller, and the splash shocked her body into numbness.

She sank in the river for only a moment, before the current began to pull her downstream. Pamela kicked and flailed her limbs, trying immediately to make it back to the surface. She was now on high alert, as hundreds of needles pierced her skin, wielded by the frigid arms of the late night canyon waterway. The foam clouded her view, however, and her clothes turned heavy to weigh her down as she struggled. _I'm not here_ , she thought. _I'm in my bed_. The blind fear wasn't enough to save her, though, as she continued being dragged further away and downward.

The first time she opened her mouth, water rushed in. It was too late to rectify the mistake, and her kicking and swimming slowed. Pamela tried to stay focused on the sharp pins stabbing her flesh, as the cold threatened to kill her first. She heard a crash, but if felt far off. She saw bubbles swimming towards her. _There's something in the bubbles_. She couldn't think about that now, as she tried to move her arms to take her back to air.

The dark shape wrapped around her, and Pamela felt her limp body rising to the surface anyways. When she broke free of the river, the little girl immediately coughed up water. The wind was now far worse, stinging her skin as badly as the water had burned her throat. She breathed it in, regardless, and allowed the dark shape to take her to shore. She still wasn't sure what was happening, but the weak mass carrying her was struggling greatly against the current. He appeared frail.

They reached the shore, in the end. Bony hands dragged her onto the rock, which happened to form a ledge at this particular point. The pathway she'd fallen from was still far above them, but the recess allowed them a small, rocky platform to escape the water, nonetheless. Pamela was practically thrown onto the rock, and her pale, limp body hardly felt it. She staggered to her knees, looking up to recognize her friend.

He walked as if in pain. His robes were soaked, pouring water out onto the clay as she was. His skeletal frame was revealed, with the black cloak pulled tautly by dampness. That terrifying skull was open to the night. He fell to his knees, lurching over the rock as he made odd noises. Pamela gasped, momentarily forgetting her own physical condition as she scooted away. The faint remnants of flesh attached to his face appeared even lesser, and they were now chalk white as he lurched.

Eventually, water came out of his throat. The holes in his jawline, neck, and mouth released the river water, gushing it out over the rock. It streamed out far dirtier than the river water itself, almost colored like vomit. Pamela watched in mild disgust, realizing his trip in the river had cost him dearly. His decayed, open holes had all filled with the canyon water. She rose worriedly, but found she didn't have enough strength to get to her feet. The little girl merely laid there, shivering, looking up with fearful eyes as she dripped wetly.

The skeletal man remained staring at the ground for a long while, with his body heaving in and out. She wasn't sure if the water had hurt his ability to breathe, or if having water in his system was simply painful. Regardless, he seemed to get it all out, turning around to sit and look over at Pamela. His dark eyes flashed as they had before.

"We need to get you help." His skull was spotted, with bone pushing through; only a few strands of red hair remained. _His voice is so soft_. She strained to hear it with what little consciousness she had left, as the cold seeped in. She was used to straining to hear him, though.

"I'm cold," she replied.

"I know just where to take you." The robed man lifted her in his arms; the black sleeves still hung heavily with water. He smelled terrible. His shoulders were bony and sharp. He looked to the cliff, which appeared climbable, and nodded his head. "Can you hold on?"

"Yes."

"We'll be there in no time."

* * *

Pamela wrapped the towel closely around her shoulders. It was warm.

The light spirit swayed just outside of the exit to the cave, dancing in the reflections of the clay-colored ground. The earthen chamber was open to the late night, though the first signs of morning had already begun to show. Behind her, the cave disappeared into darkness; she knew her friend was somewhere deep inside, finding food for her to eat and ingredients for a fire. In front of her, the canyon ground rounded out, and its edges were met with boulders and slabs of stone. She could hear the river raging below and behind those, far away.

Pamela pulled the towel as close as she could, hardly feeling the wet strands of hair that clung to her face. Her skin was still ghastly white, and she still shook. _I'm so cold_ , she thought. She remembered her friend's words, though. _You won't find warmth inside this hideout_ , he'd said. _It's a cold cave, filled with blood stains and the past of a man who committed terrible deeds_. She wanted to ask him if those deeds were worse than the deeds he'd committed, but she hadn't felt strong enough to do that.

So, she sat watching the lights, until her friend returned from the deep cavern. He brought wood, some sort of rock, and a metal rod, and in no time, flames grew from the thick logs. Pamela scooted closer to them immediately, holding her hands out to touch the sharp, orange spears. They stung, but she welcomed that pain. Pamela closed her eyes in relaxation, as feeling returned to her numb body.

Her eyes looked up to the man. He'd changed robes; apparently this mysterious, dead thief had left behind a clean pair not soaked in river water. This cloak was brown, unlike the black one her friend usually adorned. The hood was once again thrown up and covering his face. The skull was returned to darkness.

His skeletal hands showed from the sleeves, however, and they warmed some hard, cold, salted meat over the flames. "You saved my life," Pamela said. Her voice felt as weak as his usually did, in that moment.

"I wish there were dry clothes I could give you," he responded. Now that the wind had calmed down and she was warming up, he was easier to hear. "The thief didn't own any clothes that would fit you."

"I'm getting warm," she responded. As feeling returned to her extremities, the man in the brown robes handed her the meat and some stale bread.

"Then you should eat. The food is old and probably doesn't taste very good, but at least it's something."

Pamela ate what she was given. It did taste rather revolting, but her stomach pains ignored that. She swallowed the old, warmed meat and stone-like bread, looking back up at the seemingly empty robe. The light spirit was faintly visibly on the side of his garments, reflecting, as it always did. "How did you know about this place?"

"I found it when I first came to Ikana Canyon," he explained. "The owner was dead on the floor, and I found a lot of stolen items in the closets. It belonged to a man named Sakon, though I'm not sure who killed him." Pamela merely returned this statement with wide, uncertain eyes. Her friend continued. "After that, I came up to the land where your house was... for the first time. Then I found the well, and met you. Once I was chased away, I came back here."

"I'm sorry," Pamela said immediately, making to get to her feet. "I'm sorry I screamed, I'm sorry that my father..."

"Don't apologize," he interrupted, motioning her to sit back down before she could stand. "You need to rest."

"But you got hurt..."

"I didn't get hurt," he explained again. "He knocked off bits of my face, but I couldn't even feel it. At this point, I don't think it really matters... if there are a few more holes. I was just worried he would do damage if he kept swinging that pipe, so I ran."

"You can't have just been unaffected, though," Pamela insisted. "Surely it... hurt." She realized she didn't mean physical pain, and the way he shifted his weight told her that he knew that, too. There was a long moment of silence that followed, in which she waited for him to say something about that. _I screamed at his face_ , she thought. _After I told him that he was my friend, I screamed and fell down_. _My father called him a monster_.

"I shouldn't have expected anything else," he said, shaking his head. "It's over. It's okay. I realize that's what any father would have done."

"But you shouldn't have had to run. I shouldn't have screamed."

He shook his head. "I have my hood up again. It's okay."

"You don't have to wear it."

"You don't mean that."

"I do!" Pamela said, though she heard hesitancy in her own voice.

"I'll keep it up, all the same," he said. She had nothing more to add. _What do I say? What do I do? There has to be some way I can help him_. "I'm just glad I was heading deeper into the canyon, so I ran across you before you drowned."

"Deeper into the canyon?" the little girl inquired. She swallowed another bite of meat and bread, settling into a more comfortable position on the ground. "Why were you going there?"

"I...," he stammered uncertainly. "I was hoping to find something. The edge of Termina... it sometimes holds answers, or mysterious things, and I..." _He's still trying to find a way home_ , Pamela thought. _He was going to leave me_.

"You don't have to leave," Pamela said.

"I don't belong here. You saw what happened with your father. No one will accept me, and even though that's probably true at home, too... I need to go back, to Hyrule. I can't stay in Termina."

"Well, there has to be a way you can get home."

"That's why I was heading to go east of the canyons. Who knows what lies there; word has spread that new lands are appearing there."

 _He knows that's not going to help him, though_ , Pamela thought. She knew that for certain. He wanted to cross into a whole new realm; nothing in the far east could help him with that. She looked away, desperate for some answer or solace that she could give him...

And her eyes caught the light spirit. It was still dancing in the canyon floor. Pamela's eyes widened. "I have an idea."

"What?" Her friend looked up from the fire, so the shadows met her eyes.

"The light spirit," she said, pointing into the sky. "You have to touch it." He didn't respond at first, simply leaning out of the cave to look up. The lights were still present, in their full greatness. "It has some sort of magical power, I know it. It's the scar that was left behind after all of the undead left, and it helped save the world... and I think it could help you, too."

"Touch the light spirit?" he inquired strangely, still looking up. She was beaming, hardly noticing the smile as she glanced at him. He seemed to be turning the words over in his head, but she knew that she was right. _He said that the light magic in the clock tower doors is what brought him here, but that he couldn't control it anymore_. The rainbow beam had to be made of the same energy, and it would surely take him home. "But how? Even if that could work, how would I get so high?"

"You'd have to fly."

He laughed. It wasn't condescending; she swore she heard hope in it. He shook his head lightly, at first seeming to dismiss the notion, until he thought about it longer. "I do know of someone who has the power to fly."

"Who?" Her heart was soaring in her chest.

"A pair of witches in the Southern swamp. In Woodfall. They own broomsticks that can fly."

"That's perfect!" Pamela exclaimed, forgetting her weakness as she sprung to stand. She was quick to sit back down, however, with gesturing from the man.

"First you have to rest," he said, laughing. "You can sleep for a little while further in the cave, if you want."

"And then we can go to Woodfall?" she asked, still beaming. "To borrow their broom, so you can touch the light spirit?"

"What about your father?"

"You can fly me back before you touch it." He seemed uncertain, but Pamela shook her head. "Please. I promised I would help you. Let me go with you to make sure you get there, then I'll go back to living in Ikana Canyon..." _All by myself for who knows how long_. This might be her last chance to do something incredible, and she might actually be able to help him.

He took a long moment to consider. Then, he nodded his head. "After you rest. We can head out in the morning."

Pamela wrapped the towel around herself excitedly. "An adventure?" she inquired.

"An adventure," he replied softly.

"Then, we can both go home."


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Pamela quickly realized she wasn't ready for the journey.

True, she'd traveled between Clock Town and Ikana Canyon many times, but that usually only happened after days of preparing. Her father always made sure they were set, and brought a large, travel-sized backpack filled to the brim with food and supplies. Her cloaked friend carried a much smaller bag around his shoulders, filled with the food and water he was able to find in the cave. Regardless, Pamela's feet were quick to start hurting, and her short sleep hadn't been enough to recuperate from last night.

The sun had climbed high, marking a blue sky somewhere around noon. The glowing lights arced across the bright day to follow them, eventually criss-crossing above the great, walled city. They weren't there yet, however; the brown canyon walls continued along either side of them. The floor was brown, too, but it was beginning to peter out with signs of green. The clay would eventually give way to Termina Field, she knew. She looked with interest at the fallen or half-standing columns on either side, before eventually looking back at the light spirit.

 _My friend's going to fly. And hopefully you can take him home_ , Pamela thought. She wore the same clothes she'd worn earlier, though they were now damp and covered in dirt. Her hair felt just as grimy, and they continued onward despite her sore legs. She turned to see the tall man beside her peering at her again, before looking away. "I'm okay," she persisted. "I promise."

"We've still got quite a walk ahead of us," he explained. His voice was as weak as always; he kept his now brown hood up to hide his face. "It's not too late to turn back."

"I have to make sure you get home," she said. "Friends don't leave each other." He laughed softly at that, and Pamela smiled in return. "Just like you didn't leave me." She paused, looking ahead at the road that stretched onward. "But how much longer until Clock Town?" She knew it would only mark the halfway point, but she felt like it wasn't that much further.

"Not long," he replied. They'd passed her father's outpost only several minutes before, which was just beside a long, spoked fence they'd climbed. She'd been forced to find their stashed rope to scale a canyon wall, too, but other than that, it had only been flat ground. "Then, we'll head south, and hope the witches are generous enough to help us."

Pamela had never thought about the possibility that they wouldn't. "Have you ever met the witches before?"

"Yes," he replied. "When I first came to Termina, I came in search of a mask. I turned to the witches for help, but they couldn't help me."

Pamela thought about that for a moment, remembering something he'd said earlier. "I thought you came to Termina to find something to help you save your home?"

"I did. The mask was supposed to help me do that."

"What happened to it?"

"I... buried it," the man in the robe stated. Pamela turned to him curiously, noting the way he choked on the words. They continued walking, with the sun beating down from far above. "It was an evil mask, but the hero vanquished the evil. I buried the powerless piece of wood left behind, under the clock tower."

Pamela thought about that, too. "You wanted to save your home with an evil mask?" Then, she made a connection on her own. "The evil mask was the demon that brought you back to life, wasn't it?"

"I've never lied to you about my true nature," he replied quickly. "I've done terrible things, Pamela. It's fitting that I've become the broken man you see today."

 _His true nature_ , Pamela thought. She remembered what her father had said. _That thing is not a person. Life is a fragile, fragile wheel, that doesn't ever start turning again once it's broken_. "My father said that people can't come back from the dead. He said that once people are dead, they stay dead forever. He said that magic can't change that someone's gone."

He kept walking, though his head hung down as he thought. "I spent the vast majority of my life trying to defy that rule. The mask – the demon – had been rumored to defy death. Sometimes, I wonder if my desire to bring back the ones I loved outweighed my desire to save my kingdom. Now, I know the mask never would have worked for me. I never would've believed true resurrection was possible, either, until my own eyes opened again."

 _He's just like my father_ , she realized. Her father had been trying to defy death, too. For a moment, she imagined her father's face underneath the hood, but she quickly pushed that from her mind. "I never believed him," she said. "I know you're not a monster. I know _all_ of you came back to life, and not just your body."

"I certainly like to think so."

She paused again, terrified of the question she was about to ask. "... what was it like... being dead?"

There was no visible, bodily reaction; he simply kept walking. "It wasn't like anything," he finally answered, after a long time to think. "I was lying under an over-turned log, in the middle of a storm, dying. Then, my eyes were opening. I knew immediately that I'd died. I could feel it."

"What does death feel like?"

"Cold," he answered immediately. "A deep, deep cold. That feeling never went away, though. I'll always carry death with me, no matter where I go."

 _That's so sad_ , Pamela thought. "But you're more than that," she insisted. "I know."

"Clock Town." Pamela was confused by his response, until she turned to see the next landmark.

Around the next bend, the stretch of bare, clay road went on for just a little bit longer before it was bordered by columns still standing. That bit of road, while primarily brown, was littered with quite a lot of grass. On either side, a massive field encircled what she knew to be the main village of Termina: Clock Town. It sat underneath the intensely blue sky, forming an 'X' where the rainbow band met to extend in each cardinal direction.

Clock Town was a massive city wall, from her viewpoint. It went around in a circle, closing in the shops, stalls, alleyways, and towering, stone buildings constituting its four main districts. At the very center, and rising above the walls, she could see the clock tower. The black, stone construction was hundreds of feet in the air, and a rather impressively-sized wheel rotated around its front. The wheel was colorful and decorated, spinning to tell the time of day from any point in Clock Town. _And apparently just outside of it, too_. The dirt road lead straight to the city wall, where a large, open gate would lead her to the Eastern district.

The man and the girl stopped at the mouth of Ikana Canyon's entranceway, looking at the city walls. Pamela smiled, remembering all of her trips there, and bubbling with excitement at the mere sight of it. _That's where I want to live_ , she knew. _Not in Ikana Canyon_. The clock tower was beautiful. During the Carnival of Time, the clock face had become the roof, and she'd climbed to the top to see out over all of Termina. It had been especially beautiful, with the light spirit to shimmer above all of the inhabitants. _Everyone was so happy at the festival_. The world had just been saved, after all.

"We should keep moving." Pamela turned to look at her hooded companion. He didn't seem as pleased as she was to be back. _I wonder what happened to him here_. He hadn't died here, as he'd just told her it was in some over-turned log.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a break inside?"

"I don't think they'd be as welcoming to me," he responded quickly. _Oh_ , Pamela thought. She was always quick to forget that not everyone would accept him. "But we can stop in the field just in front of the Woodfall forest."

"That sounds nice." Her feet were the sorest they'd ever been. She needed a few moments to sit down. The little girl followed him to do just that, rounding Clock Town to the left in order to be in its southern direction. _Where the swamp is_.

* * *

"Can you do magic?"

"What?"

The trees swayed in the gentle wind, though their high leaves blocked out most of the sky. The ground beneath them was lush with grass, and a pathway lead straight through the dense trees. The day was now in early afternoon, and they'd left the southern quarter of Termina Field a while ago. The trees had grown thicker and the plant life more abundant, as the massive village at the center of this land fell further behind. Occasionally, they would pass cabins or small houses, but they appeared less frequently as they neared the swamp water. They could almost smell it.

"You told me that you could control the light magic in the clock tower doors," Pamela stated, remembering their conversation in the well. She clung to every word he'd said, as the lines of his story became as important to her as her mother's. "Wouldn't you need to be a sorcerer to do that?"

"The dark sorcerer was one of my many names," he replied. "So yes. In a sense, I suppose I could do magic."

"How?"

He paused, though they never stopped walking. His boots and her shoes continued crunching softly on the grass as they walked. "There was an instrument I owned – a great piano. When I played it, I was able to manipulate the light magic in objects and people. I created masks, and they gave me different abilities."

"I remember you saying you were a mask salesman!" Pamela exclaimed. "Mask making was one of your favorite things to do."

"Indeed it was," he said, and she could tell he was smiling underneath the hood. "Just like reading and writing are yours."

"Was there anything else you liked to do? When you were a kid?" Pamela took the last bite of stale bread in her hands, forcing herself to swallow it. Her feet still felt like they were sharing her shoes with needles, but the small break had given her the reprieve to keep going. She would be glad once they were finally flying back. In the meantime, she enjoyed every moment of talking to him, and loved the way the sunlight hit the leaves.

"I loved to act," he said, and she thought she heard a slight inflection on his whisper-like voice. "In my village, we would put on plays for everyone. My favorite thing in the world was making people believe, whenever I pretended to be another character."

"You didn't want to keep doing that when you grew up?"

The happiness in his voice was quick to fade. "I lost everything," he said. "After that happened, acting didn't really seem to be a possibility."

"My papa always tells me to never give up the things I love when I'm a child, no matter what happens." Pamela stopped, however, uncertainly swallowing. "Well... until yesterday. When he was yelling at me about..." _About how dangerous silly adventures were_. He'd claimed that's what had gotten her mother killed.

"Your father sounds like he's an amazing parent," her friend interrupted. "I'm sorry I... complicated things. It's probably a difficult situation."

"I wish it wasn't."

"I know," he replied. "But I loved my father, too, and I can tell you love yours just as much."

 _I hate my father for not understanding_ , she thought, but she remembered what he'd said about her mom. _He was just trying to protect you_. Pamela wondered what her father was doing at that moment. _Probably worrying_. She was suddenly afraid he might hurt himself trying to look for her, or that when she got back to her house, he wouldn't be there. _Just make it to the witches' hut first, then you can go back to your father_. It was too late to turn back now.

Pamela realized the robed man was looking at her in concern, so she quickly shook herself out of her train of thought. _He talked about his father_. He'd never been willing to talk about his parents before. "What about your mother? Did you love her?"

He appeared surprised by that question, looking back in front of himself. "Yes." He sounded uncertain, however. "I was always closer to my father, and..." The cloaked man didn't seem capable of finding the right words. "Sometimes, you learn things about your parents that you never noticed as a child. But that doesn't make me think any less of them."

Pamela didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

The man shook his head. "It doesn't matter anymore. There's no reason for us to talk about that."

"Yes there is," she said, smiling as he looked down at her. "I know you haven't had someone to talk to for a while. And that's what friends do. They talk about things when they want to share them."

He thought about that for a moment before, head raised back to look at the road ahead, he responded. "I don't think my father loved my mother. Not the way he was supposed to, at least." Pamela wasn't sure how to take that, so she waited for him to continue. "I think he loved someone else, someone he wasn't supposed to. And I don't think it really matters, but whenever I imagine the family that murderer took away from me...

"I always want to imagine a perfect family. I guess it's easy to make something perfect, once it's been taken away from you. It didn't change my love for either one of them, though. I guess it just made me realize they were just as human."

Pamela waited to make sure he had nothing else to say before responding. "What do you mean by that?"

"By what?"

"You said your father loved someone he wasn't supposed to. You mean, like how I'm not supposed to be your friend?"

The man in the brown cloak took quite a long time to respond to that question. "In a way. Sometimes, the world is quicker to condemn than it is to understand."

"Like my father was quick to condemn you?"

"Yes," he replied. "But you can't fault people for falling victim to that. Let's take your father for example. He believes I mean to harm you, despite the fact that you tried to tell him I don't. No matter how upset it makes you that he won't listen, you can't give into anger – you can't fault him. Instead, you have to try to show him, to make him understand. Otherwise, condemnation is all there will ever be, and no one will ever understand."

Pamela eventually nodded her head. "I think I knew all of that, somewhere deep down. I am mad at him, but I know I shouldn't be."

"I didn't say that. You have a right to be angry. You just can't let it take precedence."

Pamela smiled. "You're pretty smart, you know."

He laughed, in the only soft, hiss-like way he could. "If only everyone had a second chance after dying – and after doing terrible things, like the things I've done. Then, we'd all be wiser."

"How old were you, when you died?"

"Forty-nine."

"Do you think you're going to keep aging?"

The robed man laughed again. "No. There's nothing left of me to age."

"Do you think you'll live forever, then?"

"The cold is already with me," he responded. "The cold of death. I don't think I'll ever escape that, so... if this is called being alive..." He turned to face her. "Then no. I don't think death will ever come find me on its own accord. True, I could probably be murdered, if someone was bent enough on doing that, but... No. I don't think I can age." He paused. "Although, my fiftieth birthday wasn't that long ago."

Pamela smiled. "No offense, but I never would have guessed you were fifty."

"Why's that?"

"Because you look like you're 350."

"Fair enough," he replied, nodding his head. "Rotting away in a sewer system will do that to..."

That was when Pamela caught a pair of yellow eyes staring at her from the trees. She shrieked just in time, barely avoiding a snout of pointed teeth.

Her friend reacted immediately. One step forward, and the little girl was behind him, clinging to his robes for safety.

The growl was soft, but the eyes jumped out all the same. The wolfos had retreated to hide halfway behind a tree, with a thick, gray coat of fur surrounding a snout baring sharp teeth. The creature was fierce, powerful, and large, as all wolfos were, and this one was crouched low behind a thick tree trunk. It stared at the two travelers – the man and the girl – with one hiding behind the other. The monstrous wolf creature waited behind the tree, watching, and growling...

Until Pamela realized the wolfos wasn't growling anymore. She let go of the man's robes, and stepped outward when she recognized something in its voice. _Fear_. The wolfos was not casting ferocious eyes on prey, but frightened eyes on a monster. She watched it take another tentative step out, sniffing the air, with its animal's eyes wide as they took in her protector. The undead man merely stood in place, staring at the wolfos. It dared to sniff the air a few more times.

Then, it ran, with its tail between its legs. Pamela and her friend were left standing on the trail unscathed, together. "It was afraid of you," she finally commented, after moments of silence.

"It wasn't the only one," he said. "All the wild life in Termina avoid me now. I've seen wolfos in the trees as we've walked, but that's the first one to come that close. I tend to scare animals away."

She looked up at the cloaked man. _Can they smell the fact that he's supposed to be dead?_ She thought that was probably the case. The wolfos seemed to prove that condemnation was the bestial response to his appearance. Though, Pamela wasn't complaining. _I don't want the wolfos to understand, if that means it won't be afraid of eating us_. She turned to see her friend pointing the way onward, and they continued in that direction. "Stay close to me," he said. "We don't want a wolfos to find its courage."

The path continued cutting onward through the forest, with the sun shining somewhere up above. Clouds never seemed to plague the day, as it came closer to afternoon, and the trees were no longer getting thicker. The dense forest remained the same way, with the occasional clearing marking the possibility of a change in landscape. She knew the swamp had to be close, then, as its smells were only getting stronger. _I'll be glad to finally be out of this forest_ , she thought. _No more walking. And no more worrying about monsters_.

As if summoned by the thought, they heard a noise somewhere off in the trees. She and her friend immediately snapped their heads in that direction, to find the source. Though they couldn't see anyone, they did hear voices. "People," Pamela breathed. They were too far away to make out what they were saying, but the sound of speech was unmistakable.

"We have to hide," he said immediately, pulling her off the path. Pamela consented immediately, and they hid behind plant growth in between two trees bordering the path. Hiding in the bushes with the cloaked man just beside her, they waited. The little girl looked into the darkness of his hood, wanting to ask him why, but she thought she knew. _We can't risk these people fearing the undead_. Who knows what would happen then? It was best to remain unnoticed by anyone but the witches they hoped to meet. The possibility that these people were the witches then presented itself to her. _No_ , she decided. _That's not possible. They're supposed to be in their huts_.

Pamela opened her mouth to speak, but the man put his finger to his hidden lips. She nodded her head in understanding. As the voices came into clarity, Pamela realized they were walking through the trees back towards the path. _Adventurers like ourselves,_ she thought, as she listened.

"... not sure what you were thinking. Those mushrooms probably would've been useless." The voice belonged to a female. Pamela turned to see her cloaked friend tense at its sound, though he remained crouched out of sight.

"You don't know that," a teenage boy replied. "They could have helped us discover a brand new potion." Pamela peered from between the bushes, watching the shapes approach the road from the other side. She realized one of them was riding a horse before she saw their silhouettes, noting the sound of hooves softly thumping on twig-infested ground. When the people did appear through the distant trees, she noted one of them was a small, glowing ball of white light with wings, while the boy was riding a horse. _The girl's a fairy_ , she realized.

"Of course," she heard the fairy reply snidely. "Only you would risk your life to save a couple of mushrooms."

"I got away just fine," the boy responded defensively.

"Yeah, only after that other fairy attacked you with a frying pan." Pamela watched the white fairy shake her head, as she neared the road with the horsed boy. "Some fairies just don't have any manners. Tael's never going to believe this."

"Tael would have appreciated the mushrooms, at least," the boy said sarcastically. His horse was young, stepping onto the road happily with the fairy flying alongside. He wore a fitted, brown tunic sewn from Clock Town, with a dark-shaded bag hanging over his shoulder. Messy, blonde hair sat upon blue eyes, and the young boy smiled wanly as he turned back to his fairy. Neither one of them had noticed the girl or man hiding at a distance.

"If you're siding with Tael, you know you were being stupid," the white fairy replied, returning his smile. "That boy still doesn't know the difference between a goron and a rock."

"Well, I still want to check and see if I can find more somewhere," the boy replied. "Er, mushrooms, not gorons or rocks."

"There might be more fairies guarding them."

"I think I can handle a couple of fairies."

"Oh really?" the white one replied. "Don't underestimate us. We're fierce."

"I'll hide behind a door if I have to," the boy said humorously, pulling the reins to continue his horse across the path, into the other side of the forest. Pamela shifted uneasily, but her robed friend didn't. She realized the boy was traveling far enough down that he probably wouldn't see them. The little girl turned back to see the fairy scoff, shaking her head as she laughed lightly.

"Fine, fine. I'll go try to find the rupees you lost." The fairy flashed in the opposite direction, making the familiar chime-like sound she knew fairies did. Pamela watched interestedly, turning to see the boy fading into the trees in the opposite direction, along with the sound of hoof-steps. Unexpectedly, the robed man grabbed Pamela's shoulder.

The little girl turned in shock to find him staring directly at her. She couldn't see into the darkness of his hood, but he made direct eye contact all the same, with his hand on her. Then, he pushed himself to his feet, and walked briskly from behind the bush. Pamela was confused, and almost called out to stop him. _The fairy will see you!_ She stopped herself, though, uncertainly getting to her feet to follow.

The white fairy was floating inside of the tree line, only just beginning to fly away, when she stopped. The cloaked man had made plenty of noise stepping onto the path, and he now stared after the small sprite. Pamela remained half-hidden, on her feet and not sure what to do as she watched. The fairy, eventually, turned around.

She didn't seem shocked or surprised. The fairy floated in place, with her wings absently bobbing her up and down. She stared wide-eyed at the cloaked and hooded undead man, who stood in the middle of the path; a shaft of sunlight fell across the rim of his hood. Her eyes were locked into the depths of it, only flickering to find the girl several moments later. Her eyes went back to the man.

"Tatl," he said. His voice was still a whisper, though it sounded softer than it ever had before. _Is he crying?_ Pamela thought he sounded sad. The little girl took a few more steps forward, to stand beside her friend.

The fairy didn't respond; she merely floated there and stared. Eventually, the man with the hood spoke again. "Do you remember?"

The fairy – Tatl – took a moment to react. She looked away, casting her eyes elsewhere, before she turned back to face him. She flew a few feet closer, but Pamela didn't pay any attention to that. She looked over her shoulder to check if they'd been seen. However, the boy and the horse were still gone.

"You said this place was a realm of healing," Tatl replied. Her eyes remained wide, as if in disbelief, and all traces of humor had vanished from her voice. Her wings held her in place somberly. "I don't think it's possible to heal if you can't remember."

Another moment of silence stretched on. The three of them stood together, with the man and fairy never breaking eye contact. Pamela looked up to her friend, and a ray from the sun happened to expose a ghastly pale cheek. "I'm going home," he said. "Termina isn't where I belong." The fairy didn't respond, instead nodding her head.

It was the undead man who broke the silence again. "Are you happy?"

Tatl took a moment to react. When she did, she smiled. Her eyes were filling with tears, Pamela realized. "Link kept his final promise to me." She looked away, shaking her head as she kept smiling. "Every time I feel the sunlight, I know it's going to be okay."

Then, she left. The fairy sped through the trees, leaving Pamela and her friend behind. They stood together in silence, with the little girl glancing up at her traveling companion. He stared after the spot where she'd been. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he responded. "I'm sorry that happened."

"You don't have to apologize," Pamela replied, not understanding.

"We should keep moving. The witches won't see us if we get there after nightfall." The little girl nodded her head in agreement, and then they kept walking. The sunlight dotted the ground in shadow, marring the dirt road with patches of gold and brown.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

The end of the journey was far smellier than the beginning.

Pamela wrinkled her nose as they passed through the final tree line into the swamp. The clearing ended at the shore of a body of water; it was muggy, dirty, life-filled green water that stretched outward, before it met a tall cliff that marked its border. Right where the grass ended and gave way to swamp, a wooden pier was constructed. It ran until it reach a taller wooden platform, on which a building stood. Small and wooden, like the pier and platform, the only way to reach the shack was to cross the wooden path above the water, and then climb a ladder to the top.

The little girl looked behind her, to see that the forest had finally come to an end. They'd only seen one other wolfos along their journey, but it had kept its distance, allowing the girl and her friend to pass. In front of her and across the grass, the swamp was rather large; the water branched off to the east and curved out of sight. Her eyes became fixated on the wooden building on the platform. _It looks like a house_ , Pamela thought. Or a hut. _A witch's hut_.

"Is that it?" she asked, pointing and turning to the man beside her. He was tall and cloaked. The brown robes hadn't been removed their entire journey, with the hood still obscuring his face. She wondered if he got hot under there. The sky was bright and sunny, as it had been all day. _Probably not_ , she thought. He was undead, after all.

"I think so," he replied. "Though, we can't be sure until we check."

"Should we go ahead and climb the ladder?" She waited for a response, looking at him searchingly. Pamela tried her best to hide her excitement; their long, perilous journey was about to prove worth it. True, they'd hardly had any dangerous encounters, but it'd still lasted a whole day. The little girl had started so exhausted, especially given everything that happened the night before. Their breaks had been limited, and her feet hurt tremendously. Her stomach was growling and she felt dirtier than she had in a very long time, but all of that was forgotten. Now, she had eyes only for the house, where hopefully she would find her friend's path home.

The man nodded his head. She could tell he was stifling excitement, too. "We might as well."

Pamela nodded her head, smiling as she turned to cross the small bit of grass. She found herself tempted to plug her nose as she approached the swamp water, but she decided that would make her look childish. _You just have to deal with it_ , she told herself. _Swamps are supposed to smell like that_. Besides, how would a witch react, if the little girl who asked for a favor was revolted by her home? She crossed over the wooden planks, and listened to them creak under her shoes. Her reflection was blotched in the murky water.

The cloaked man followed behind her, with the sunlight continuing to warm his brown robes. It was approaching sundown, as the final hours in the day came to a close. She thought of her father. _No. Don't think about him yet_. She was about to help her friend; her father could take care of himself. She had to do this – for both of them. _I'll be home soon_ , she thought.

Pamela reached the ladder and grasped its firm, brown, deeply tinted wood. She thought it looked out of place compared to the rest of the structure's wood; the ladder must be relatively new. The pier, the house, and the platform had grown faded from the years of fumes curling up from Woodfall's surface. The little girl climbed the ladder, with her friend just behind. In no time at all, the two of them stood before the wooden front door. It read _Swamp Tourist Center_ , above an advertisement for a cheap cruise. Now that she thought about it, she'd seen a small, wooden boat tethered underneath the porch. Pamela paused before opening the door.

She turned to her friend. "Do you think they're still open?"

"Let's go in and find out."

Pamela nodded her head. The little girl turned the handle and pushed the door open. Waiting on the other side was a decently-sized room made mostly of wood. There was an unattended counter on her left and an open window on the back wall. A small, closet-sized room was behind the window, with a person leaning on its ledge. Her nose was long and pointed, and her eyes were wide and large. She seemed very old, with tall, thick white hair sticking straight out of her head. Even from the other side of the window, Pamela could tell she was small and frail. A shawl was around her thin clothing, and she sat with a book spread open before her.

The witch looked up at the visitors. The little girl stopped just after stepping into the room, but the robed man took a few steps past her. "I don't take it you two are interested in a cruise?" The voice befit the lady. It sounded like it belonged to an old, hermit-like witch, aged and shaky. Her eyes examined them curiously from either side of her nose, as they stood at the door.

 _How does she know we aren't customers already?_ she wondered. Then, she thought how odd they must look. She – a little girl in a dirty, stained shirt and skirt, with matted, filthy hair and a wound across her forehead, and he – a tall, slender, robed man who refused to show his face. He kept his hood up, and Pamela stayed just behind his legs, with the door open and pouring in light from the late afternoon sun.

"No, we're not," her friend replied.

"What was that?" the witch asked, closing her book and scooting forward against the ledge. "I couldn't hear you. You shouldn't mumble." Pamela noticed the strangest thing about her – her gem. A crimson ruby was encrusted into her head, flaring with an interesting light that seemed to pulsate. _Is that where she gets her magic power?_

The robed man responded by taking steps closer. Pamela started to follow uncertainly; she realized for the first time there was tension in the air. The girl looked to see the witch tense behind the ledge, grasping it firmly and threatening to push herself up. "Now, I'm not what I used to be, but get any closer and I'll fry the both of you before..."

"We're not here to hurt you!" Pamela interrupted, stepping in between the man and the witch. The witch cast her eyes down to the girl. "He just can't talk very loudly, so he had to come closer to speak."

The witch thought about that for a moment, looking back and forth between the young girl and her friend. "Is she your keeper, then... strange, robed man who refuses to show me his face?"

"We've met before," he said in his whisper, only taking a few steps closer. The witch strained to hear him, but still appeared alert. "But you probably don't remember me."

"How am I supposed to recognize a man who hides his face? What's your name?"

"You wouldn't recognize me by my name," he responded. "I didn't have it last time we met." _His name_ , Pamela thought. _I still haven't asked him for it again_.

"And I wouldn't recognize you by your face, either?" the witch said, a sarcastic smile flashing across her face. "Did you get a new one of those, too?"

"Yes, actually," he said. "I think it's best if I keep it hidden, for now."

"My name's Pamela, and we're here to borrow your broomstick." Both the man and the woman turned down to her again. The girl swallowed. _He's not getting anywhere_. At this rate, they would leave enemies and never get what they came here for. "We're not here to hurt you, and we don't mean to be rude. We just... need your broomstick, so we can fly."

"My name's Koume, and I offer boat cruises, not flying lessons," she spat quickly.

"Pamela, let me handle this," the robed man stated, turning back to the witch. "Where is Kotake? Is there anyway I could speak with..."

"My sister is dead," Koume interrupted. "And my broomstick was destroyed. It's hers I have. And I'm not lending it out to a strange man, that I don't remember, who won't tell me his name or show me his face. Especially since you're whispering so creepily and have a little girl here who looks like she's been beaten half-to-death."

"He didn't beat me!" Pamela corrected.

"If you'll just let me talk to you for a few minutes..."

"No, I won't," the witch interrupted yet again. The red gem appeared to be flaring with her anger. "The tourist center was just about to be closing, and I'm not going to let some robed weirdo bully me into taking one of the last things I have of my sister!"

"I'm not going to bully you."

"Do you intend to leave without it?"

"If you'll just listen..."

Pamela shook her head, turning away from the two as the bickering began. She felt all of the excitement within her quickly slip away. _It can't be_ , she thought. _We've come all this way, and now we're not going to win because of the witch_. She looked around the room, searching, trying to think of some explanation or solution...

Then, her eyes caught the sky, just barely visible from through the doorway. The rainbow lights, though not as visible in the day, still shone. The little girl smiled. _It always has the answer, doesn't it?_ Pamela turned back around. "What does the light spirit mean to you?"

For the third time, they were interrupted by her. Both adults turned to find her. "What are you talking about?" Koume quipped first.

"The light spirit outside," Pamela said, pointing to the sky as she stepped closer to the window. She stopped just underneath, looking up. "Those rainbow lights that came from the moon, once it blew up. What do they mean to you?"

Koume was speechless, at first. Her eyes went back to the robed man, before looking back at her. "You think it's a light spirit?"

"I know it is," she responded resolutely.

"Little girl, I'm not sure what you think you mean by 'light spirit,' but either way, I don't know what this has to do with..."

"It's a chance for people to move on," Pamela interrupted again. "It's proof that the darkness in this world has left, and that we can work together to make things better."

Koume's eyes widened. They looked off for a moment, as if she was in a trance. "A chance to heal," she mouthed to herself.

"Exactly," Pamela said, regaining the witch's attention. "A chance to heal. And if he doesn't have a broomstick to fly to the light spirit, then he's going to miss his chance to heal. We all have to make sure that everyone has a chance, and this is his chance."

Koume took a few moments to respond. "He's going to touch it? He wants to fly into the sky... into it?"

"Yes, and I know it will take him home," she answered. Pamela turned away as she thought of something else, before meeting the witch's eyes again. "I know it must have been hard losing your sister. I've never had one, but I know if I did, I would love her with all my heart. Maybe, letting go of her broomstick, is the last thing you need to do to heal. Maybe... once you give this up, you can finally let her go. And you could give him a chance to heal, too."

Koume looked at her for a long time after that. Then, she smiled, before looking back at the two of them. "I haven't seen such innocence in a long time." Her eyes turned to the robed man. "You ran into the perfect person to help you... you know that?"

Pamela turned to her friend, and knew the smile was there without seeing it. "I know."

* * *

They stood outside on the porch, and her friend held the broomstick in his hand. However, Pamela realized that flying might be a bigger problem than she'd anticipated. "How exactly does it work?" she asked, peering at it worriedly.

"The witch said you have to manipulate the light magic in it," he explained, holding the stick in his bony fingers. The broom was long and thick, with a mass tangle of bristles at the end. The wood was much darker than the platform in the swamp, and the undead man held it tentatively before them. "Which, as I mentioned earlier, is something I'm quite good at."

"You don't need your magic piano to do it this time?"

"Not with the broom. The witch said it was special. Anyone can manipulate the magic in it, if they know how to." Still, they stood there. Pamela swallowed nervously. She imagined them climbing the broomstick, going a few feet in the air, and then crashing down into the swamp and sinking in mucky water. The terrible feeling of drowning returned to her in a flash.

"Should you practice a few times?"

"No," he said, turning to face her. "Do you trust me?"

Pamela couldn't help but return the smile. "Of course I trust you." The undead man in the brown robe stepped over the broom to hold the stick between his legs. He made sure the bristled end pointed out behind him, and there was plenty of room on the broom for her. She took a deep breath. _This is the last step of your adventure_ , she thought. _How many people get to fly? Usually only witches. This is a once in a lifetime chance_.

Pamela, uncertainly, got onto the broom behind him.

For a moment, they stood there together. The little girl gripped the wood tightly with her hands, and her backside was just barely touching the bristled ends. She'd made sure to put a little bit of space between herself and him. Pamela looked up at the brightening sky. The colors of the setting sun were stark now, glowing underneath the light spirit. The whole world was alive and breathing above them, it seemed, with oranges, yellows, blues, and reds.

Then, it started growing closer. Pamela gasped, instantly looking down when her feet left the wood. Her mangled shoes were suspended just above the planks, but they grew further and further away. Her stomach was quick to feel empty, and she shot out her arms to wrap around the robed man in control. The reaction was instinctive, and her friend jumped only slightly. Her fingers were shocked to find the hard texture of bones underneath the cloth, instead of skin, but she clung all the same.

Woodfall continued falling further and further below, until the hut became a speck in a small pool of water. She watched the swamp continue – a thin snake slithering through a vast sea of tree tops. Small and large ponds alike dotted the sides of the snake as it went along. Pamela tried to look at the shapes and structures that differed, but she was rising too fast. Eventually, Pamela looked up.

The little girl smiled. They were inside of the sky. The lights of the late afternoon enveloped them, as the fading rays of the setting sun seeped below the horizon. The light spirit was still far, far above their heads, twirling and glowing and funneled through the sky. Pamela laughed, clinging to the man in front of her as they flew higher. _I'm flying_ , she thought. _I'm flying_.

She turned to the magician leading them forward, and the hood had long ago blown off of his head. The back of his head was very similar to the front: faded, bony, and missing patches of flesh. Decay was clearly visible from there, but Pamela didn't find herself scared that time. It was framed by the beautiful afternoon sky. He turned his head, and she met his small, black eyes. A smile spread across his dead lips. The little girl returned it, clinging to him tightly as he turned back around to fly them forward.

The wind whipped through her tangled, dirty hair the best it could, ruffling her filthy dress as well. It felt good. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the loud, overwhelming sound of the air in her ears. She could feel the sun on her face, and her knuckles grew cold and white from clinging to her friend. Her legs were cold, too, wrapped around the thin piece of wood keeping them in the air. Pamela opened her eyes to look down, over her friend's shoulder. The landscape below them continued to change. The forest seemed to go on for a very long time, but even from there, she could see the far off walled city, with the clock tower protruding from the middle. There was a brown patch of a land on the horizon; the trees below them continued falling away, as they left the fumes of Woodfall behind.

It was breathtaking; it was the most beautiful thing she had ever experienced. And so, Pamela flew home, clinging to the mask salesman returned to life. From Woodfall Swamp to Ikana Canyon, the light spirit was their guide.

* * *

When the broomstick started to descend, Pamela found herself waking from a dream she never wanted to leave. Up in the skies, there was nothing to worry about; there was only beauty. The sky was a canvas that she journeyed through, plunging through the sunlight like a fish swimming in a colorful river. The wind filled her face and chilled her skin, but she didn't care. Up there, there was no need to talk. Up there, she was with her mother and her father at the same time. Up there, she could never feel sad. _Let me fly_ , she thought. _Forever_.

Instead, the brown, canyon floor entered her vision. At first, the ridges, valleys, and cliffs were just as pretty, cutting through the twilight as spears would. The jutting rocks formed a magnificent ocean of clay that they descended into. The wind lessened, however, as did the bright bruise that was the darkening sky. Certain, solid rock leapt at them, becoming bigger, vaster, and firmer. The freedom of the skies slipped away and was left above her; the broomstick landed. It wasn't until they were only several feet from the ground that she recognized her front yard.

Pamela's feet landed on the blank space of clay lightly. Then, they came to a stop. At first she could only sit there. The little girl was slow to let go of the stick, and then step away from the broom. The cool, clammy chill over her entire body slowly came to her, and her ears rang with the sound of the wind. She looked up, to see her friend step away from the broomstick as well, holding it vertically beside him.

Pamela slowly took in her surroundings, but she was still in a daze. _I flew_ , she thought. _I flew across all of Termina_. "Pamela?" She turned at the sound of her father's voice.

He was sitting on the front porch to their house. She'd hardly noticed the sound of the music playing from the brass horns, and the nearby stream trickling with life. The wheel turned slowly and methodically. Her father, however, stared with wide, mystified eyes. He wore a heavy, gray coat over dark, long pants, with his red hair brightly resting on top of his head. He looked dirty, as if he'd been out and traveling through the canyon all day. _Looking for me_.

"Father?" She stood there, but still felt as if she was in a dream. Pamela walked over to him half-dazedly, and her father responded by standing to walk down the stairs and join her in the dirt.

"Is it you?" her father asked, looking behind her and then up into the sky. "You flew... you flew from the sky, back to me." He turned back to his daughter, as if he was afraid to hope this wasn't dream.

Pamela found the tears already filling her eyes. "Yes," she said. "It's me, Papa." She ran into his arms, and he could only hug her in return.

"Oh Pamela...," he stammered. "Pamela, you're back to me." He wrapped his arms around her tightly, squeezing her close to him. "Let's go back to being a family again. Please. I don't ever want to lose you."

"I promise, Papa," Pamela said, through the tears. "I promise, I won't anything like that happen ever again." They remained together, with Pamela on her feet and her father bent down to hug her. They stood in front of their house, finally reunited. For how long they stood there hugging, she could not say. Then, she felt her father tense, let go of her, and stand tall.

Pamela turned to find her friend. He stood there, by himself and only a few feet away. Neither one of them had noticed, but he must have quietly slipped back to the well and returned. _To get the only possession he has left_ , she realized. The hero's shield was secured to his back, its gray, metal edges filled with the symbols of a land called Hyrule. His hood was down, and his small, black eyes stared at the father and daughter strangely. His face and skull were just as grotesque as they'd always been, but there was something different in his eyes. _Something human_. He stood with the broomstick in his hands, uncertainly waiting for something to happen.

The little girl in the dirty clothes took a few steps forward, smiling at her friend. He returned the smile. Pamela looked to see if her father was watching, and gestured towards the tall, robed man with her palm up. "Father," she started, clearing her throat. "This is my friend. I promise, he never tried to hurt me."

"He brought you home," her father said. He walked forward to join his daughter, putting an arm around her shoulder to stand before the undead man. "You brought her back safely."

"I did," he responded, in that whisper-like voice. "She saved my life." He averted his eyes, as if realizing he'd made a mistake, before looking back to them. "What little remnant of a life I have left."

 _How?_ Pamela thought confusedly. _How did I save his life?_ "Thank you," her father said, though he still seemed unsure about the whole thing. "And I'm sorry. I..."

"I understand," the undead man finished.

"He's going to go home now," Pamela stated happily, turning to her dad, and then back to him. She nodded her head, before looking up into the sky. There was still sunlight left, even though the sun itself had slipped away minutes ago. She pointed to the light spirit far above them. "By flying up there."

Her father craned his head back, before bringing it down to look at his daughter's friend. The rainbow seemed to glow off his cheek. "Pamela," the man in the robe said, taking a step forward. He turned to her father to make sure it was okay, who nodded his head. The little girl left her father to stand just in front of the mask salesman for a final time.

"Yes?"

"The adventure I had with you was the grandest adventure I've had in a while." He said it all with a smile on his face. "You taught me that I'm still myself, no matter what else I have lost. I still have that."

"You have more than that," Pamela said, reaching out to take his skeletal fingers into her own. The man was surprised, looking down at the small, child's hand holding his own. "You have a friend."

He smiled, as they held hands underneath the waning sky. The rest of Ikana Canyon was silent, save for the music, the turning wheel, and the water. The stillness was almost like death, but Pamela felt her own heart beating in her chest, and could feel his eyes on her own. And his fingers in her own. _There's life in these bones. Somehow_.

The robed man stepped away, holding the broom by his side. He looked up to see the ribbon arced far above. "I guess it's time for me to go."

Pamela looked away, trying to think of something else to say. _I have to say something_ , she thought urgently. _Before he leaves. It might be the last thing you ever say to him_. She didn't think good-bye would cut it, but she couldn't find the right words...

Then, she remembered something. "Wait!" The man stopped, already mounting the broomstick. He looked over as she ran to his side. "You never told me your name." She paused, waiting and out of breath for an answer. Pamela watched the dark eyes flicker back to her, and watched the ancient face show her a smile once more.

"My name is Majora," he said.

Pamela returned the smile. "That's what I'll call the light spirit's flares – whenever it's reaching to touch the ground. Majoras."

The undead man kept his smile as he turned to the sky. "I can think of no better way to save that word. Let people forget the demon, when they hear Majora. Instead, I want them to remember the light." Then, he flew.

Pamela watched, as he spiraled up and up into the air. Her arms fell by her sides as she leaned her head back, eyes widening in awe. The man in the dark robes cut upward like an arrow, zipping into the cool, waning nighttime air. The stars were just beginning to glow as the last of daylight faded. As always, that made the light spirit glow.

Her father stood beside her, and held her closely. The two only had eyes for the sky, however, as they watched the undead man climb higher. He shrank as he rose, with the sleeves and legs of his garments bellowing in the wind, empty hood flapping behind him. She couldn't see, from so far below, but she knew he was smiling. Pamela kept her eyes on him, even when he was a mere dot on the darkening landscape. Of course, he was nothing compared to his destination.

Red, blue, green, yellow, orange, purple; the colors were one, melded together in a musical staff singing radiantly – with light as its only instrument. The great, wide arms swayed gently in the dark abyss above them, glowing and filling an empty world with the beautiful reminder that it was possible to heal. It was an eagle, a lion, and a god. The vortex of light spiraled, danced, and sang, pulsating and widening its arms to accept the single, broken man who flew to accept its embrace. The dot climbed and climbed...

Until Majora vanished. In his wake, the spirit remained swaying in the young night. Pamela and her father stood underneath it together.

* * *

"I can see it! I can see it!" Pamela pointed to the distant building, jumping happily. The outpost was small, but she was always the first to spot it when they rounded the corner.

"We're finally there," her father said, smiling. He had a large, heavy backpack securely strapped to his shoulders, carrying the food, water, and clothing for their journey. _Except it's more than we usually bring_ , she thought excitedly. They would be staying in Clock Town for over a week, because her father had come to find a house. They wouldn't be moved in for months yet, but this was their first trip to find the home that was meant for them.

"It wasn't that long of a walk," Pamela eventually said, turning back to the house. She was well-rested and well-fed, with shoes that comfortably fit and clothes that were in good shape. Her hair was clean and brushed, flowing much longer than it ever had before, down her back. An ugly scar cut across her forehead, but the little girl had decided she liked the wound. _It's a battle scar_ , she thought. _From my adventure_. Her adventure had only been a couple of months ago, yet it felt like so much longer.

"You aren't the one carrying the backpack," her father said, slightly out of breath as they rounded the canyon wall. The blank, flat, clay ground continued passed an overturned column to reach the small shack. It was sturdily built, with thick, wooden beams to support the roof, door, and windows. Just behind it was the black, metal fence marking the close proximity of Termina Field. _But we're taking a break at the outpost first_ , she knew, as she ran to the door.

Her father had let her carry the key, so Pamela removed it from her pocket and pulled open the front door. She stopped to pick up the pile of letters waiting on the other side, turning to wait for her father. As he stepped on the small porch, Pamela handed them to him. Then, she slipped inside. The outpost was composed of two rooms, though the main one – the entrance – was rather large. Desks, cabinets, chairs, and papers filled its corners and walls, proving how busy and well-kept it all was. Underground, there was a secret vault where their money was kept, and through the doorway in the back, there was a small space for a bedroll by a nightstand.

Pamela breathed in the musky scent of the wood, as her father laid the pack down on the floor. It was midday, and they would continue the rest of the journey after a short break. The young girl sat in the back corner of the room, plopping down to stretch out her legs and lean against the wall. She was trying her best to reach her toes when her father caught her attention. "Pamela?"

"Yes?"

"There's... a reason I wanted to bring you here. Aside from just taking a break."

She looked up interestedly. Her father's eyes were as loving as always, though his expression showed hints of sadness as he turned to a nearby desk. Pamela got to her feet slowly, walking over in his direction. "Yes?" she asked. "What is it?"

"When I had this outpost built, I sent some things out here to keep them safe," he stated, as he opened a panel in the back of the desk. He removed a box, setting the heavy, closed container in the middle of the floor between them. He sat on one side, while Pamela sat uncertainly on the other. He smiled as he continued. "I knew you were getting older, and would eventually find this stuff on your own. So I hid it here. At the time, I didn't want you to find it, but now..." He sighed, opening the lid and gesturing her to peer inside.

Pamela looked at the papers, books, scrolls, and random objects uncertainly, lifting a dusty quill and turning it over in her hands. "I don't understand," she said. "It's..." She stopped, when she realized what the next thing she'd gotten her hands on was. Pamela silently brought the pieces of paper in front of her. The pages were old and yellowed, but the words were still legible. Her hands trembled, and she pressed the writing against her chest to keep it steady. _And to hold my mother close to me_.

"I'm ready to talk, Pamela," he said. Her father smiled, and there were no tears in his eyes. "Whatever you want to know. All you have to do is ask."

Pamela blurted out her response immediately. "Everything," she said, clutching the pieces of paper tightly. "Tell me everything. I want to hear my mother's story."


	7. Epilogue

Note: Thank you to anyone who read this, and to anyone who read "Majora's Mask." Especially to anyone who was invested enough to read both. Your investment in my novelization means more than I could ever really say. This final update, I think, is a much needed good-bye for both stories. But hopefully, (for the character in this chapter as well as myself), it is also indicative of the greater things yet to come.

* * *

 _Epilogue_

"Let people forget the demon, when they hear Majora. Instead, I want them to remember the light." He turned back to the great, colorful arc in the sky.

Majora never tore his eyes away from it, as he kicked off the ground to fly at full speed. The Hylian shield was attached firmly to his back, but he hardly noticed the uncomfortable, firm steel latched to his bony shoulders. He refused to look at the little girl or her father, or the colorful house playing the circus music below. He refused to look at the brown rock or the clay of Ikana Canyon, or anywhere else in this realm. He wanted his final piece of Termina to be the goodbye to his last living friend. _Pamela_.

Instead, he had eyes only for the beautiful scar. The little girl had deemed it the light spirit, and regardless of its true nature, it was an appropriate name. The colors were shimmering far above, but they only got closer as the rest of the world fell away. He gripped the wood of the broomstick firmly in his skeletal hands, while wrapping his legs around the stem. Despite that, he could hardly feel the broom. His sense of touch had almost gone entirely with his flesh, though some remnants were there. For instance – the wind. He could feel it on his cheeks, with the empty hood flapping behind him, wide sleeves funneling out. He narrowed his eyes, barely noticing the faint strands of hair pulled back by the gusts. He could hardly feel it getting colder.

Majora – the mask salesman – the broken, undead man who had reclaimed his birth name from the demon he sold it to – thought he could see the entire spectrum of light above him. For the first time in a long time, he was afraid. The crimson gems were bordered by emeralds and sapphires, extending tentacles to gently embrace the sky, but there was no promise they would be kind to him. Plenty of things that were beautiful in nature were unkind to the living.

Majora had no idea what would happen when he touched the light spirit – he half-expected to be reduced to ash and shot out the other side. _It will make Pamela happy, though, to think I've gone home_ , Majora had decided. And it would be no small mercy to finally put an end to his existence once and for all. _Yet, there's still the possibility it will work_. It was a win-win-win across the board, for this reanimated corpse. He could only grip his flying instrument tightly as he flew faster.

The darkening sky only made the broad band of magic glow brighter. It was terrifying and exhilarating all the same, and Majora's thoughts went blank as he neared it. Its awesome presence stunned him into silence, as quite quickly, the whole sky became the spirit. He didn't stop. He allowed the weak, faint heart beat to continue its erratic rhythm, though his usually acute mind was empty.

He could only stare with wide eyes at the brilliance before him. _There's no better way to die. A second time_. The amethysts and garnets clung to him, shining as the colors spun into a vortex. He opened his mouth to scream, but something caught in his throat. Ikana Canyon was gone. Even the sky was gone. The colors in his eyes united into a single, white light, blinding him. Majora instinctively released his hands to protect his face, and he forgot a moment too late to hold onto the broom.

However, he didn't fall. Instead, what little feeling he had went numb. The world was a singular bright flash, and he was frozen inside of it. The light spirit had burned him. As soon as he opened his mouth to scream...

The world returned with stunning clarity; it was dank, dark, and he was knee-deep in water. Majora simply stood, surprised for a moment that he'd landed on his feet. A memory came to life before his eyes: the basement of his shack. _My hideout_. Majora stood there for a moment, and then his black lips curled into a smile. He'd never expected to see this place again. The undead man let go of the broom in shock, which landed with a splash into the water. He backed away, only half-dazedly realizing that there was a deafening noise all around him.

 _I'm home_ , Majora thought deliriously. _I'm in Hyrule. I'm back; it worked. I'm home, I'm alive, the demon is dead, and I have my name back_. He laughed, though the laugh was a soft whisper. Everything was exactly as he remembered... except for the great storm raging outside.

The room was small and dark. At its center, there was a thick, stone table, a clear slab glistening with water on the top. Surrounding it on the walls, there were bookshelves, desks, counters, phials, and tomes; they were all more familiar than the back of his own decaying hands. Except, these possession were decaying too, now. The room was underground, and, in one back corner, a stream of water rushed along the wall, dripping nosily to collect in the newly formed pond. The smell of mold and wet wood was heavy, with several possession floating along in the dirty water. There was also a staircase on the right, leading up to the surface, and a small river flowed over those wooden steps as well.

Majora looked around in awe, finally discovering the source of the noise. It was raining thunderously; he could hear what sounded like a hurricane berating the structure from the outside. He knew there were holes in the basement floor here, too, that must have already filled to the brim. The storm had been raging for a while, then. _The end of the world_ , Majora suddenly realized. The excitement was quick to fade, when he remembered the only key to saving the world had been destroyed.

 _That demon wouldn't have saved the world_ , he thought next. The mask salesman let the disappoint go immediately. He'd known what he would find if he did make it home; he shouldn't pretend any differently. Majora remembered how the river had hurt him in Termina, and wondered if his time back in Hyrule would be short-lived. _I'd rather the light spirit have killed me_. Could the gods really be so cruel? Of course, Majora had stopped believing in the power of gods long ago. _Magic_ , he knew. _That's what's real. That's what feels, and understands_. So, why had the magic chosen to bring him back?

Majora, for the first time, felt the wood underneath his hands; he'd backed into something, without realizing he was using it for support. The smell of water and decay had overwhelmed him. He turned to look under his fingers, and saw a pair of wooden doors. They didn't lead anywhere; they were simply leaning against the wall. _They're an exact replica of the clock tower doors, in Clock Town_. They were the key into and out of the realm of Termina, he knew. One only needed to meet three conditions – a shard from the twin pair in Termina, a broken life in need of healing, and an instrument that could manipulate light energy.

He took his hands off of the doors to look at something else. Majora waded through the pond, rather difficultly, until he could see the grand piano underneath the staircase. It was massive, large, beautiful, and made of decorated, fine wood. It had hardly been damaged by the water. Majora knew only a man without an identity could play the keys; that had been the price he paid. _For revenge. For power_. Next, Majora turned to the stone slab just behind him.

The dark sorcerer tentatively reached out a hand, almost shaking as he brought it down to feel the smooth stone. Even then, he could feel the darkness within. _Where did it come from?_ he wondered. _Had the rest of the building been built around it?_ That had always been his guess, but it was an answer he would never have. All he knew was that it allowed a man to sell his name – to lose his identity. Then, far off – in some time or place – a demon would be born, baring that name.

He wondered if he even had any blood left in his veins, to make that sacrifice again. _That one mistake_ , he thought. _None of this would have happened, if I hadn't made that one mistake_. The demon would have been born under a different name, though. It was his own fate to become intertwined with the great, cosmic battle for the realm of healing. _And we won_. The cost could not have been greater for himself. _Or for the hero_.

The hero. Suddenly, Majora turned to the staircase. Link's body had never been found after the moon exploded, and he'd been inside of it, along with himself and Tatl. The mask salesman and the fairy had been brought back to Termina Field, but they had never known the true fate of the Hero of Time – other than that he was probably dead. _If it took me home, it probably took him home, too_. The light spirit must have waited to take Majora back to Hyrule until the second time he touched it.

He smiled at the thought. _A realm of healing_. It was proven to him yet again. The light spirit – an embodiment of Termina's magic – had known exactly what it was doing. It blessed Tatl with memory, even though its inhabitants usually forgot, so she could heal. It blessed him with Pamela, so that the two of them could heal. And it had sent Link home, so that his Termina version could heal. _My time healing is done_ , Majora thought. _The scars I have left are the scars I will keep forever_. They were deep, but he'd come to terms with them.

Majora's eyes were still on the staircase, wondering what he would find when he walked outside. He was afraid. _First, let me finish in here_. The Hylian shield was painful on his back, so he removed it, letting it rest against the staircase. It, too, could finally come home. Majora drug his legs through the water to go back to the clock tower doors, placing his hand on the wood. _Thank you, Pamela_ , he thought. _And thank you, Termina. If only I hadn't been so foolish as to condemn you so quickly_. Maybe a more open mind would have left him with one or two scars fewer.

The sound of rain hammering outside was without end. He looked along the desks and bookshelves, realizing that hardly anything was salvageable. However, at one point, something wet and leathery wrapped around his ankle. Majora was startled, but he looked down to find the lip of a brown bag. It was floating around in the water, with its strap trailing behind it. He peered at it curiously for a moment, not recognizing it along with all of the other familiar possessions. He knew this was his home, but this particular object did not belong to him.

Suddenly, he recognized it. Majora's eyes widened. _Link did come back_. The mask salesman was slow to reach into the water and lift the bag from the pond. The wooden limb of a bow was already sticking out. The satchel was heavy and damp, dripping back into the collected rain water as he removed it. Majora let the flap flip wetly open, revealing a horrifying smell. He waded over to the table, letting the possessions spill onto its surface.

The bow was ruined, clattering out first. A red and blue gem glowed fiercely on the limbs, along with a dull one, but the string and wood were too far decayed, no longer clean and black. A heavy, metal contraption with a hook on one end and a handle on the other fell out, too, and in much better condition. Arrows and a quiver clattered alongside. A bottle filled with drinking water and an empty one rolled along the stone to crash into the storm water. Majora laid the bag back on the table, finding his chest rising and falling in disbelief. The rain was still loud. It dripped noisily in the same back corner.

He reached out a fragile hand to lift the bow. Immediately, his mind flashed back to Great Bay Temple, where he'd rendezvoused with the hero to save him. The blonde haired, green clad youth had pulled the string back to slay the monster within. Majora could see his face, stern as stone as he battled. Then, he saw Link's expression contorted into anger, as he held Majora up against the wall, blade against his neck. _Why are you here? Why?_ _!_ he'd shouted. Majora had seen the rage of a man who'd found his chance for revenge. _And he didn't take it_ , the mask salesman thought. _Unlike me_.

Majora reached into the bag to see the lingering possessions left: three masks, and a purple lens with a handle. _One of these masks is mine_. He held the white mask reverently, with the singular, red eye in the center. _The Mask of Truth_. It was the first mask he'd made with the piano, in this very room. It had found its way back to him. _I found the ruins of my darkest creation in Sakon's hideout_. He shivered, however, and was glad the ReDead mask was gone. That one carried the past he wanted to leave behind.

The last item was a chip of painted wood. _From the twin pair of doors on the clock tower in Termina_. He held it up in front of him. The one key back to Termina had not been lost after all. He would make sure to keep that, as well as the Mask of Truth. For now, he stowed both back in the bag, turning when something else caught his eye. He hadn't seen it, since it'd drifted behind the wooden doors leaning against the wall. Now, he noticed: Link's sword.

He went to lift it, and it seemed to ring, as if drawn from a scabbard. It was purple, with green in the center and black roses etched into the metal. He had no idea where Link had gotten this one, but the hero had used it to slay the demon. Majora laid it beside the Hylian shield, gripping the handle to the staircase as he continued with the thought in his head. _Link wouldn't abandon these things_. Clearly, the boy had been here and then left. _What if he survived?_ There was only one way to find out – assuming the boy hadn't gotten far. Majora hoped there would be no sign of him. _Because otherwise, it won't be anything good_.

Majora ignored the hope growing inside him, deciding it was childish. However, if Link was still alive, he would do whatever it took to let Tatl know. _Tatl_. It was no coincidence that he'd run into her in Woodfall; the light spirit and magic in Termina had orchestrated it. More than anything, he'd wanted to join the fairy and boy on their adventure. _But that was their adventure to take, not mine_. She'd been happy, and that was all that mattered.

Majora ascended the stairs towards the light of day, making sure not to slip on the constant sheath of water running along it. He reached the trapdoor and found it surprisingly heavy to thrust open. Immediately, he was outside; the shack's roof had caved in. Majora fought the water that fell on him, flinging the wooden door open and watching it slam forcefully on a rotted, wooden floor. The ceiling was still partially there, although it was now mostly a gaping hole. He crawled out of the underground lair, watching as the torrential waterfall pouring around him was quick to fill the basement even more. Majora slammed the trap door shut to stop that from happening.

He kept his hands up to shield himself from the heavy rain, stepping nervously towards the open doorway. The ruins of the dirty shack – which was the above ground coverup for his home – were hardly standing. So, he walked outside, into his home realm once again.

The scene was terrifying. The sky was one ominous gray sheet. No sun was visible. Though he could tell it was day, the world still seemed black. The rain pounded forever, very visible and obstructing everything far from eyesight. He knew the landmarks well enough, though. His home was built on a cliffside. The ground was slick, wet rock, turned dangerous and smooth by the weather. To his right, the rock landscape ended, which cut off far below to reach a raging body of water. That ocean stretched, far, far away – forming the horizon. The cliff went off and curved into the distance, with nothing else in that direction but the bay.

To the left, there was a dense forest. On a clear day, he could see Death Mountain many, many miles away, on the other side of the northern, uncharted territories of Hyrule. _This isn't truly Hyrule, though_ , he knew. _The mountains mark the northern border_. These were the lands on the other side, and this ocean ended all knowledge of the world's geography. It went on forever. Majora turned to see his shack, backing away from it to get a full view. It stood near the edge, with the great, angry waves splashing against the cliffside and occasionally adding to the rainfall to spray it. The awning attached to the side of the house had fallen, leaning against one of his abode's few remaining walls.

The gray curtain of water was constant. Majora turned around in it, at a lost for what to do. _Is it this bad in Hyrule?_ He thought it probably was – if not worse. The great evil that had been sealed away was awakening, and the flood would claim everything. Majora stepped to the cliffside, wondering if he should walk through the forest to try to find Hyrule, or return to his basement and wait. He knew he could follow the cliff until it eventually reached the mountains, without ever hitting forest, but that would take days. The ocean would always be in his view, though.

Majora looked out on it now, blinking in the rain. He threw his hood over his head when he felt the water entering the holes in his body. He would need heavier garments to survive out here for extended periods of time. _There has to be something stowed safely in the basement_. He nodded his head, resolving to go back there for now... until something else caught his eye.

Majora stopped moving immediately. He straightened himself, bringing his hands down from the rims of his hood. He was as still as a statue, a dark brown silhouette in the heavy, gray mist. His eyes were cast on the ground, where something initially hidden by the rain was exposed.

It was Link.

The Hero of Time was not recognizable. The constant storm had done its damage on his body, much as the waterway in the clock tower had done its damage to him. Majora refused to avert his eyes, staring at the fallen corpse. The outline of a skeleton was visible, with its head fallen to the side. The green tunic was now black, and only a little bit of it still clung to the body. The undead man stared at the dead boy. _A villain looking upon a hero_ , he thought. _Except the wrong one is dead_.

Majora realized Link had died alone. He'd stumbled injured out of the shack and left his possessions behind. There was no sign of Epona, however. The boy must have set her free. He stared at the body for a long, long time. The rain kept falling, but Majora would only stand. No amount of wind and water would move him as he looked upon the savior of Termina. _And Hyrule. And everywhere_. Without him, no one would have the chance to heal. There – lying unattended and rotting on a cliff – was the most important person who would ever live. And no one would know.

 _Except me_. It wasn't right. However, Majora knew there was no point in appealing to the gods. There was only magic, and there was no magic in the world that could breathe life into him again. _If I could give him my life, I would. If I could give him my chance to rise from the dead, I would_.

But he couldn't. Majora remembered the fox-faced man; he was the thief who had murdered his family. The mask salesman had tracked him down and killed him. Majora, however, had been Link's fox-faced man. The dark sorcerer had murdered those close to the boy, forcing him into a broken state so he could take him to Termina and make him fetch Majora's Mask. Yet, when Link had gotten the chance to take his vengeance... _he let me live_. Majora would have sacrificed anything in the world to know if Link had forgiven him – and to bring him back.

Instead, he would do the best he could. Majora was a leftover, and he would do what leftovers did: mourn. The robed mask salesman, after taking hours to stare at the broken body, returned to the shack. He went underground and retrieved the sword and the Hylian shield. He brought both above ground with him, along with lengths of retrieved rope. He laid all the objects on the ground and closed the trapdoor again. Majora then went to grab the awning leaning against the house, tugging against it to bring it off the wall. It crashed to the side, and the mask salesman saw something else: a fairy's grave.

The sprite had been buried next to the shack, under the awning, and he'd almost forgotten. The burial site had been reduced to mud, but within was a small pile of bones. Majora gasped, stumbling back and falling to his knees. "Navi," the mask salesman blurted, choking on the name. "Navi. Navi." He repeated the word to himself, placing his hand over the small remnants of the corpse. "Navi," he said again, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt a tear run along his cheek.

"I saw you in Termina again," he blurted. "I said good-bye. I told you I was coming back." _Tatl_ , he thought. _Your name is Tatl there_. "And...," he stammered, smiling against the tears. "I got my name back, Navi. I got it back. Like I promised my father." He was laughing, then, as he placed his rotted forehead on the ground, so it touched the remains of the fairy lightly.

"Majora," he said. "Navi, my name is Majora. I didn't forget."

* * *

The process took him longer than expected. But he preferred it that way. _Let it take years_ , Majora thought. _You aren't worthy to be the sole mourner of Link and Navi. They were greater than you will ever be_. He'd initially been mad at himself for crying over his fairy. After all, Navi had abandoned him, and he'd been the one to murder her. Even if – once upon a time – they'd been the best of friends – that was ancient history. Link should be the one mourning her; the fairy wasn't Majora's to mourn.

Nonetheless, the time had come for their departure. Majora had drug the awning all the way along the cliffside, until he'd come to a section where it lowered to touch the shore. Then, he'd returned for the shield, sword, rope, and Navi's body. Lastly, he'd returned for Link. The body was rather light, and the only possession on him was an empty scabbard. The belt had mostly deteriorated, but there had been no ocarina inside. Majora had expected that, though. _I think I know what Link did with the Ocarina of Time_. He hoped, one day, it would wash ashore when it was needed again.

Majora tied the boy to the metal awning, wrapping the rope around several times to make sure he was securely fastened. The purple, green, black-rosed blade rested on his chest, with the bright sword running down to his knees. Both of his hands were wrapped around the handle. The Hylian shield was placed on top, just over Link's chest and fastened by the rope as well. Navi rested in his hat, which was secured along with the weapons.

The mask salesman backed away, when the bodies had been tied to the awning. The waves were large in the vast sea, but he wanted the funeral raft to make it as far as possible before being destroyed. The rope would help with that. Now, it rested at the shoreline, waiting to be carried away. The rain and wind were blowing hard enough for the raft to go in the right direction, despite the pull of the tides. _The waves are chaotic_ , Majora reflected. With the growing darkness and flood to follow, the ocean was as likely to pull objects into it as it was to wash them ashore.

He stepped back, standing resolutely once again. "The Hero of Time and his fairy," Majora stated, hardly hearing his own voice against the weather. He spoke as loudly as he could. "You saved the land of Hyrule from a great evil, by traveling across time. Your greatest adventure, however, had yet to come." He paused, reflecting on how much Tatl had been like Navi. While there was never any proof that she was the shade of her, it was all but proven for him.

"Link – you gave your life, for the greatest cause there could ever be. You ensured that no matter what happens, no matter what horrors strike these worlds, it would always be possible to heal. It will always be possible to recover. Termina ensures that, and you destroyed the demon that tried to corrupt that realm. Your legend, though unsung, will ensure that all other legends can be sung.

"Navi – I never deserved the love you showed me. When my mother and father were killed, it was you who found me in the forest. You stopped me from becoming a monster earlier than I could have..." He paused, choking on the words. _And look at me now_ , he thought. _I am a monster_. Majora felt a tear falling from his eye again, but he tried his best to stop it. "You two... you deserve crowds." He looked upon the dead faces below him, but they never responded.

"You deserve the praise of every man, woman, and child in Hyrule, Termina, and everywhere else. You deserve a statue in your honor, and for thousands of children to be named after you. But most of all, you deserve life. You both should grow old, beside the ones you love. You should know their laughs, and their loving caresses, and fill your memories with happiness. Not death. Not emptiness. But you gave that all... you lost that all. So that others could have that to look forward to, when the darkness falls.

"But instead... instead you have me." Majora felt his balance waver, but he managed not to fall. "Instead, you have a fragile man, healed but baring too many scars to ever be whole again. A man who is responsible for both of your deaths, and spurned the kindness you tried to share. A man returned to life by a demon, with no purpose remaining. All I can do is give you my promise to never forget. I will always remember.

"Your time in this world has come to an end. Now, you must journey together as shadows – in the land you created together."

He grabbed the raft, and shoved it into the water. At first, the waves merely rocked it in place, as the metal hit the rocks and refused to take it all the way back to shore. The heavy wind caught on the objects held down by the rope, however, and pulled it further away from the land. Majora merely watched, as the raft rocked along the waves, slipping into the gray curtain of rain. Link and Navi left the world together, vanishing along the great unknown of the sea.

Majora stood there for the longest time yet. The sky had darkened by the time he moved again, with day turning to night. He watched until the raft was a speck on the horizon, and then still continued to watch. He watched until the little feeling he had left was gone entirely – until he could feel absolutely nothing. Then, and only then, did the mask salesman make his way back towards the shack. _It's done_ , Majora thought. _They've been sent along their way_. He quelled any hope that he could do more, realizing how vain that was. _They're gone. The burdens and scars are yours to carry_.

But now what? Surely, Hyrule would soon come to an end, buried underwater or worse. There was no reason for him to return to Termina, and he doubted he could, even if he wanted to. His feet carried him back towards his shack, wondering if he would spend the last of his days there. Eventually, a mighty wave or an evil shadow would probably take his life, and then he could join all of the lost lives and rest in that eternal bliss. _I could join them, wherever they are_. He wondered what the possibility was of Termina casting a shade of himself. _Will part of me be in that shade?_ He doubted it, but it was worth thinking about, all the same.

Then, he stopped. Not even halfway back to the shack, he realized something. _It's worth thinking about. Just like Link and Navi are worth remembering_. More than worth remembering. He'd promised to never forget. Majora, in that moment, realized his purpose: _to remember_. He was a leftover – but there was more to it than that. He was a witness to the great deeds the Hero of Time had accomplished, as well as to the great evils he had vanquished.

 _That's why I live_. The gods had something in mind for him after all. He'd returned to life to hold onto knowledge that otherwise would be lost forever. _It's my responsibility to keep Link and Navi alive_. The excitement returned, and this time it was there to stay. Majora would simply exist, to give counsel to those that would follow, and ensure the memories were there for anyone who might need them. _As long as I live, Link and Navi will, too_.

Majora paused, wondering where exactly he should go. Perhaps he would survive, hiding in the basement. However, looking at the vast ocean gave him another idea. His fox-faced man – the man who had ruined his life – had been building a boat, when the mask salesman found him. Majora had killed him before he could use it, to leave his life behind and start over. _By journeying into the unknown_.

He wondered if any of the ship building materials were still there. He'd infiltrated that camp several years ago, but there might be just enough time for him to finish a small vessel. Majora could sail away, into the ocean no man had crossed before. _I'd be right behind Link and Navi_. There, he could find a place to live, and one day, he would have guidance for those to follow. _As long as someone remembers, our heroes will never be gone forever_.

The mask salesman looked out at the vast body of water. The waves continuously hit the shore, and the sheath of rain before it was heavy. It would be a long, perilous adventure. _Just like the one Pamela took to help me_. Majora smiled. He wondered what the future would look like, on the new horizon.

For now, there was only one place to go. _Across the sea_.

 _February 17 – July 15, 2015_


End file.
